The Princess Athura: A romance of Iran
Date: 2022-05-26T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Iran -- Fiction

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Title: The Princess Athura: A romance of Iran

Author: Samuel W. Odell

Illustrator: Jay Hambidge

Release date: May 26, 2022 [eBook #68174]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Thomas Y. Crowell Company

Credits: MFR, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS ATHURA: A ROMANCE OF IRAN ***

THE
PRINCESS ATHURA

A ROMANCE OF IRAN

BY
SAMUEL W. ODELL

NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1913, by
Thomas Y. Crowell Company

Published April, 1913

CONTENTS

CHAPTER | PAGE
I | The Great King’s Last Battle | 1
II | An Oath | 15
III | Prexaspes | 29
IV | Athura | 42
V | Cambyses | 58
VI | Persepolis | 76
VII | “I am Cyrus, the King, the Achæmenian!” | 92
VIII | A Royal Council and a Royal Hunt | 101
IX | The Deeper Things | 121
X | A Farewell Feast | 133
XI | The Great King Introduces a Strange Custom | 151
XII | The Force of an Oath | 165
XIII | A Clash of Wills | 179
XIV | The War Against Egypt | 198
XV | The Madness of Cambyses | 219
XVI | The End of Oath-Keeping | 235
XVII | The Earless King | 254
XVIII | The Spider’s Web | 266
XIX | A Galloping To and Fro | 280
XX | The Overthrow of the Magi | 297
XXI | King of Kings | 305

THE PRINCESS ATHURA
A Romance of Iran

CHAPTER I
THE GREAT KING’S LAST BATTLE

IT was morning on the plains of Asia. Long-legged herons stood in the shallows of the yellow Jaxartes, bathing their feet in its sluggish flood and warming their bodies in the first rays of the sun. They were silently and uneasily watching a host of armed men drawn out in long battle-lines across the lowlands bordering the southern margin of the stream.

Where the armed host stood was a sandy plain, about two miles wide. Beyond this was a low range of sand-hills, which trended away to the southeast, enlarging the plain as they receded from the river. Cutting through hills and plain to join the river-bed was a dry water-course, where, in winters only, a torrent flowed. In it were some stunted trees and scattered thickets of shrubs. To the north of the river was a vast plain on which the dry, yellow grass had been withered by summer sun and wind. Far in the east appeared dimly through a blue haze the summits of high mountains. Westward the river had yet to flow half its length to the Oxian swamps. Here it was wide and shallow and its banks were low and marshy.

The rays of the sun sparkled on the brazen breastplates and shining blades of battle-axes, on the spear-points and gilded helmets, of two hundred thousand men, who here awaited the approach of a far more numerous host coming down from the east along the river towards them. The light rested softly upon the stern, bearded faces of veterans of many wars and the softer cheeks of young men on this, their first campaign. They were men of Iran for the most part, though some were Assyrians, Babylonians, Arabs, Hebrews, or Greeks from the Ionian cities. They were followers of Cyrus, the King of Kings, the Great King, ever victorious Lord of the World.

Those about to attack them were Touranian horsemen, known to ancient history as Scythians, Massagetæ, Sacæ, and to modern history as Tartars, Turks, or Kalmuks. The hearts of the soldiers of Cyrus were glad. For the long, dusty marches in pursuit of an ever retreating enemy would now end in a riot of blood and slaughter, and perhaps they might then set their faces homeward. No doubt of victory entered their minds. They were led by Cyrus, the invincible. It mattered not if the enemy outnumbered them three to one, as their scouts had reported. There would be more killing and a greater victory.

Racial hatred, reaching back beyond history and tradition to the distant age when the first family of man threw off branches to different parts of the earth and the branches immediately claimed the pleasant places and fought each other for them, animated both parties to the coming conflict. The folklore of the early Aryans is largely composed of tales concerning heroes who had saved their people from the ravages of those fierce men of the North, the Touranians. Century after century the wandering hordes of the great northern plains hovered, like threatening clouds, along the boundaries of Iran, looking across the mountains from their own arid and wind-swept abodes to the rich and pleasant hills and valleys of the South. The children of those tribes, in the days of Tamerlane and Mohammed, broke over all barriers, crushed Eastern civilization, and put back the clock of progress a thousand years.

Once even before the time of Cyrus, the wild Touranians had passed over the mountains and pushed through into Mesopotamia, bearing woe to the nations. Then, one day, their captains sat down to a banquet prepared by the conquered ones and instead of meats were fed with sword-blows and dagger-thrusts. Having thus been deprived of leaders, the Touranian conquerors had suffered disaster; and all had been either killed, enslaved, or driven back across the mountains. Stories of that invasion were thereafter told at every fireside of the Bactrians, Medes, Persians, and their kindred tribes; and the mothers in Iran frightened their children into obedience by threatening to hand them over to the dreaded monsters of Touran.

Having conquered all civilized Asia, Cyrus had thought to rest in his palaces at Hamadan, or Susa, Babylon, or Pasargadæ; but there had come word from ancient Balk, or Bactra, the mother city of all Aryans, warning him that the Touranians were gathering for war in numbers so immense that help must be sent. The great war-king had at once responded. With half a million men he had marched into Bactra, to the aid of King Hystaspis, who, under him, ruled there, and, passing through the mountains on its northern border, he had driven back the leading troops of the enemy. The Touranians had retreated, seeking to draw him into the great plains, where they hoped that they might crush him with overwhelming numbers. He had followed carefully, building forts as he advanced, that his supply-line might be safe, and leaving strong detachments to guard them. With less than half his army, though its best part, he had arrived at the great river, Jaxartes, and had waited there for the enemy to assemble and attack him. Now they were coming and he was ready.

Cyrus had chosen the battle-ground. He had marched out of his camp, situated a mile or so down the river, and had taken position where the narrow plain enabled him to mass his forces, with the sand-hills to protect his right, the river his left, and the dry water-course his front. The enemy, coming down towards him, would be compressed into an ever narrowing field where their immense superiority in numbers would not give them undue advantage. Knowing that the Touranians were all mounted and were accustomed to charge in mass at headlong speed, he hoped to draw them into the great ditch at his front in such confusion that the impetus of their assault would be broken. For this purpose he threw out to the east of the ditch about one thousand paces a curtain of light cavalry, which had orders to draw an assault, retreat rapidly before it, and take refuge behind the infantry. The position of the infantry was a line about halfway down the western slope of the water-course, and it would not be perceived by the pursuers until they should arrive at the upper margin of the eastern slope. Keeping five thousand of his heavy cavalry, known as the Imperial Guard, in reserve on the high ground at his extreme left near the river, he had stationed the remainder, about fifteen thousand strong, behind the crests of the sand-hills at his extreme right; and it would be their duty as soon as the Touranians should join battle, to make a détour to the right, descend from the hills upon their rear, and there attack. Thus, by the grace of Ahura-Mazda, Cyrus hoped, the enemy would be placed between his veteran infantry and his invincible cavalry, and so be ground to pieces.

Near the margin of the river in front of the army was a group of men whose dress and demeanor denoted them leaders. One of these, to whom the others gave worshipful attention, was mounted on a noble Nisæan stallion. He was watching the distant mass of enemies with searching attention. He seemed indeed a king and worthy to be a King of Kings. Historians and storytellers have surrounded him with heroic luster. His countenance was eagle-like. His forehead was high, his nose sharp and slightly bridged, and his chin firm. The piercing glance of his black eyes never failed to read men nor to impress them with the necessity of instant obedience to orders. His demeanor was humorous and kind toward friends but fierce and terrible to evil-doers or to an enemy. Despite his sixty years, forty of which had been spent in war, his body was erect and soldierly. A helmet, glittering with gold, was on his head, and from beneath it his straight gray hair fell to the collar of his cloak. A white, silky beard covered the lower portion of his face and lay upon the silver breast-scales of the flexible coat-of-mail which covered his body and hips. Brazen greaves, fastened to soft leathern breeches, protected his limbs. His only weapon was a short sword, pendent from a belt around his waist. The trappings of his horse were rich. Its chest and neck were also protected by link mail.

In the group of officers surrounding the Great King, there were two of no less royal birth than he. One was Hystaspis, King of Iran, his cousin, one of the Achæmenides, the family that had ruled in Iran for ages. Cyrus had been King of Fars, or Persia, before he became King of Kings. Hystaspis had ruled in Bactra, the ancient seat of the Aryan race. Astyages was king of Medea and grandfather of Cyrus, whose mother was a Medean princess. He claimed suzerainty over all Iran. Cyrus had conquered his grandfather in war and, having dethroned him, had stepped up into the exalted position of King of Kings. He had then placed Persia under control of Hystaspis, who loyally supported him and acknowledged him as the overlord of all Iran. Cyrus was a warrior. Hystaspis was a student, a lover of peace and a mystic, though he ruled his people well as a statesman and showed qualities of a great warrior when necessity demanded. In his youthful days he had known the famous Zoroaster, the seer of Iran, who had reduced to writing the ancient songs and the ritual of religious worship of his race and had preached new life into its creed. Hystaspis was milder, more benevolent, and less alight with energy than Cyrus.

Prince Darius Hystaspis, son of the King of Iran, was the other royal person in the group. He had dismounted from his war-horse and, with folded arms, was standing at its head, also watching the enemy. Six feet in height and well-proportioned, youthful and gallant, he was an ideal soldier. A helmet of gold and silver leaves covered his black, short-cropped hair save at the temples. A coat of leaf-mail protected his chest and his limbs halfway to the knee and was confined at his waist by a broad leather belt studded with gems set in golden buttons. A bronze plate further protected his breast, and greaves of the same metal were fastened to his leather riding-breeches as a protection to his legs. High-laced leather shoes encased his feet. A short sword hung at his belt, and a short-handled battle-ax swung from the saddle on his horse. A soldier from boyhood and already a veteran, having served in Cyrus’ last campaign against Babylon, yet he was, like his father, a student, and had learned wisdom of the greatest seer of that age, Belteshazzer, the Hebrew. His shaven cheeks were fair and glowing with the health of right living. His eyes were blue and clear and were set deeply beneath dark eyebrows and a lofty forehead. He was the idol of all Aryans, and, next to Cyrus, the hero of the army. He was commander of the Imperial Guard, and to him had been entrusted the duty of leading the Guard in the flank movement by which Cyrus hoped to crush the enemy.

Otanes, a giant in size, the noblest of Iran’s seven great nobles, was another of the group. He was shield-bearer to Cyrus and commander of his chosen body-guard. There was also Hydarnes, another of the seven nobles, a short, heavy man whose long, upturned mustache and beetling eyebrows were his most prominent features. He was commander of the Persian infantry. Vomisces, one of the seven nobles and commander of the allied infantry, the Babylonian, Assyrian, and Hebrew levies, and Gobryas, another one of the seven, a young man, blood-brother and closest friend of Prince Darius, were in the group. There was also Prexaspes, a Medean noble, commander of the light-armed cavalry, a brave, ambitious man, richly dressed in jeweled armor and having his hair and whiskers curled and perfumed. He was a cynical, unscrupulous, and pleasure-loving man, but energetic, resourceful, and brave. Of him we shall hear much in this story. A number of orderlies waited near by to receive and transmit the Great King’s commands.

The herons in the Jaxartes have become restless but have not yet flown. While they wait and while Cyrus is watching the enemy, we may study the private soldiers to whose blows he will owe his victory, if he wins. They were not of the same quality as those effeminate men who, in later years, were unable to withstand the Greeks under the great Alexander. This was true at least of the Aryans who constituted the bulk of the army.

Passing along the front of the light-armed cavalry, we observe the dusky Arab, with his curved scimiter and long javelin, his bow and arrows. He is clothed in turban, short tunic, loose cloak, brazen breastplate, and leathern breeches. He is mounted on the beautiful, swift horse of the desert which he loves as his own brother. Here also we see famous bowmen from Edom and Canaan, slingers from the Mediterranean isles, and Syrians from Mesopotamia, severally arrayed in their national costumes. When we pass along the lines of infantry, we note a distinctive army dress. Each soldier wears on his head a high, round felt cap; on his body, a stout, leathern, tight-fitting jacket, or tunic, with skirt extending halfway to the knee, and on his legs linen trousers, confined at the ankles by the tops of the soft leathern shoes with which his feet are shod. A bronze breastplate covers his chest, and bars of the same metal are on his arms and shoulders. The front rank, as it stands in position, is protected by wicker shields, covered with heavy leather, braced with metal bands. These shields are about seven feet long and are placed upright with the pointed lower ends thrust into the earth. Behind them, as a wall, the spearmen are comparatively safe from the enemy’s javelins and arrows. If the fight comes to close quarters, the shields may be easily thrown down; then for his further protection, the soldier must rely on a small, round targe held in place by straps on his left forearm.

Each heavy-armed infantryman in the six front ranks carries a heavy spear about seven feet long and a short sword somewhat like a long dagger. A short-handled battle-ax with sharp, shearing blade and pointed beak is hung by a strap over his shoulder. The soldiers in the rear ranks, instead of the heavy spear and battle-ax, carry bundles of light javelins, for casting at short range, and long bows with sheaths of arrows, for fighting at long range. Protected by the wicker wall and the hedge of spears in the fore, they will meet the assault with showers of darts cast over the front ranks or, advancing behind the charging spearmen, will gall the enemy thus before the shock of the hand-to-hand fight comes.

At intervals along the lines stand the captains of hundreds and commanders of thousands, distinguished from private soldiers only by richer armor and plumes of horse-hair on their caps.

We next note the soldiers of the Imperial Guard. They are all large men, none of them over forty years of age, every one of noble birth, and all belong to the military class of Iran. They know but one calling, that of arms. All had entered military service at the age of sixteen, had been enrolled in the Guards at the age of twenty, and will remain there until they shall reach their fortieth year, at which time they will either be made civil officers or promoted and placed in command of companies and divisions of the imperial armies. Their armor consists of brazen helmets for their heads, chain-mail for their bodies, and brazen greaves for their legs and arms. A round shield, held on the left forearm in battle, will give further protection. A long, sharp javelin, a sword, and a battle-ax are their weapons. Their horses are protected by chain-mail on neck, forehead, and breast.

Cyrus, having satisfied himself that the Touranians were really coming to battle, turned to his generals and said: “At last the Touranians have decided to fight! We must not only repel this attack but must utterly destroy them, so that hereafter the terror of our name shall command peace! Take no prisoners! This day we shall avenge the wrongs of Iran in the death of its ancient enemies! Should it happen that I be slain in this battle, my cousin, the King of Iran, will command. In case he also should fall, his son, our beloved Prince, will command.”

His piercing black eyes rested a moment upon the Prince’s countenance. The latter flushed with pleasure at the honor done him, and bowed in acknowledgment. The King continued: “The King of Iran will remain at my side. I shall need his advice. There will be no change in the plans announced last evening. With the help of Ahura-Mazda, this day we will fill that torrent-bed with Touranian dead! You, Prince of Iran, have the most important duty. Ride down upon their rear as soon as you see their front ranks engaged with our infantry. Officers, go to your places! Let the skirmishers advance farther into the plain!”

The group scattered, each officer riding to his place. Cyrus and the King of Iran retired across the torrent-bed to the eminence at the rear of the left wing of the army. The Prince of Iran mounted and hurried to his command. Trumpets sounded. The light cavalry of the skirmish line moved briskly out upon the plain. The Touranians came on, a vast throng with but little semblance of order. Their leaders rode in advance at intervals, and the front ranks only preserved an irregular alignment. The two opposing forces slowly drew near each other. The shaggy coats made of hairy skins, the tall, peaked caps, and the fierce, dark faces of the Touranians soon became plainly visible to their opponents. The former were surprised at the apparent weakness of the latter and began to utter shouts of derision and defiance. These shouts presently blended into a great roar as the soldiers demanded of their leaders the right to charge.

But the Touranian leaders were wary. They thought that but a fraction of the Persian army was here, possibly an advance guard sent out to delay their progress. They were puzzled and hesitated. But when the enemy halted at long bowshot distance and sent a flight of arrows into their crowded battalions, they lost control of their men. Screams of agony arose, and a roar of angry shouts. Another flight of arrows and a third smote the Touranians. Their own bowmen sought to reply, but their bows were weak and their arrows fell short. Then came a vast forward movement of the mass. Leaders were swallowed up in the midst of galloping squadrons. The skirmishers of Iran retreated, but turned in their saddles and shot backwards with fatal effect. Eager to overtake the flying archers, the Touranians threw caution to the winds and urged their horses to full speed. The earth shook with the beat of a million hoofs, and the air was rent by the terrific volume of savage war-cries. No line of infantry ever formed could have withstood the impetus of that charge if unprotected by ditch or wall.

The herons, affrighted, spread their broad wings, sprang out of the yellow waters of the Jaxartes, and hastily flapped away. The conflict had begun.

After pausing at the margin of the torrent-bed to send one last flight of arrows into their pursuers, the skirmishers of Cyrus quickly descended into and crossed it, passed through the ranks of the infantry, which opened to permit their passage, and formed in line on the ridge beyond. The Touranian leaders were surprised when the fugitives disappeared from their view in the chasm as if the earth had swallowed them up, and, guessing the reason, frantically screamed orders for their men to halt. But the noise was so great that the orders were unheard. The shaggy horses of the leading ranks came at full speed to the margin of the torrent-bed and, unable to halt, plunged headlong down into it. Many horses and riders went down and were ridden over, crushed and mangled. Some retained their footing and struggled across the bottom of the ditch and up the opposite slope to assault the Aryan infantry. But the momentum of their rush was lost. The gleaming hedge of spears, protruding from behind the wicker shields, was terrible to horse and rider. The Touranians struck at the spear-points with their curved scimiters and endeavored to force ways between them. Masses of horsemen poured into the great ditch and struggled forward. Pushed on from behind, those in front could not avoid contact with the darting spears, which, in the hands of sinewy and practiced veterans, gashed horse and rider and threw them down in dying, struggling heaps.

The rear ranks of Cyrus’ army came into action. They hurled clouds of javelins and arrows over the heads of the men in front upon the confused mass of assailants. The slaughter was horrible. But the Touranians in the front could not retreat had they desired. Those in front were crowded on, over dead and dying, upon the darting spears and against the wicker shields, overthrowing the shields and pushing back the Aryan infantry by sheer weight. Especially at the extreme left, where Cyrus was watching the struggle, did this backward movement of his lines take place. Here the water-course was wider and shallower than elsewhere and the advance was not so difficult. Here and there the Touranians succeeded in getting between the Aryan spears and with fierce strokes opened ways into the midst of the infantry. The latter, dropping their spears, fought with battle-ax and sword. The contest became a mad swirl of screaming, plunging horses, shouting men, gleaming swords, and slashing axes. Heads were crushed, limbs lopped off, bodies hurled to earth, horses brained and hamstrung. Ever the stout veterans of Cyrus faced their enemy, unterrified, sweating, grunting, and cursing, as they stabbed and hewed; but they were forced back step by step.

Cyrus watched the struggle with anxiety. There seemed no end to the on-pressing masses of the enemy. More and yet more poured down into the vale of death and pushed across to the assault. Javelins and arrows were becoming exhausted. The infantrymen were fighting furiously, but were beginning to show weariness. Casting his eyes often to the distant hills, he presently noted with satisfaction that the Prince of Iran and his guards were passing down into the plain at the rear of the enemy’s left. He then ordered the light-armed cavalry to the assistance of the infantry at the center and right, and placing himself at the head of that division of the Imperial Guard held in reserve, he led it into the affray just as the infantry, pressed back by sheer weight of numbers, seemed about to be overwhelmed. The heavy horsemen of the Guard rode forward smartly and plunged into the battle. Prodigies of valor were performed. The infantrymen, seeing their King in their midst swinging his battle-ax with deadly effect, renewed their efforts. Huge Otanes with mighty strokes and protecting shield endeavored to ward off from Cyrus all blows aimed at him. King Hystaspis of Iran rode along the battle-lines towards the right. Everywhere the battle was close, fierce, and deadly.

Meanwhile the Prince of Iran with the Guard rode down into the plain, and with javelins at rest charged the Touranians in flank and rear. This soon relieved the pressure in front. Confusion and terror seized the Touranians. Those who sought to resist went down before the shock of the huge Persian horses and the thrust of the long javelins.

The contest became a slaughter. Thousands of the luckless Touranians rode into the river, seeking to ford it and thus escape; but quicksands and treacherous water-holes swallowed them up or mired them down, so that they became easy prey to the pursuing archers. The Aryan infantry assumed the offensive, crossed the torrent-bed, and drove the Touranians back upon the lances of the Guard, who in turn hurled them back upon the infantry. The larger part died. Some broke through and fled. The noon sun looked down upon heaps of slain and wounded, upon despairing squads flying over hill and plain, and upon a river whose waters were red with blood and choked with bodies. The Aryan victory was complete, overwhelming, and decisive.

But the victors also suffered. Their loss was heavy in men, but worst of all they had lost their Great King. Cyrus at the head of the Guard had ridden into the press and restored the battle. When the assault on their rear caused the Touranians to give back, he had followed furiously. Then an arrow struck him in the neck just above the collar of his coat-of-mail, inflicting a deep wound. He reeled from the shock, plucked out the weapon with his own hands, and then fell fainting from his horse into the arms of Otanes, who carried him back out of the battle.

CHAPTER II
AN OATH

THE wounded King was tenderly borne to his pavilion in the camp, and his injury was dressed by the most skillful surgeons in the army. He was weakened by loss of blood, however, and suffered much pain. He became feverish. The surgeons had but little skill in those days; and the wound was deep and infected. He suffered the pain with heroic resignation and, after a while, fell into a restless sleep, in which he tossed about and muttered continually.

Meanwhile the King of Iran, having taken chief command, pushed the victory to completion and recalled the troops to their camp from the bloody plain only when the last enemy had disappeared or died.

Prince Darius and the Imperial Guard pursued the fugitives as long as they held together in a body, but when they scattered, some crossing the Jaxartes and others taking refuge in the southern hills where it was difficult to follow them with heavy horse, he left further pursuit to the light-armed cavalry and returned to camp with his shouting, singing troopers. He did not learn of the King’s condition until within bowshot of camp, where an orderly from his father met him bearing the sad news. At once the shouts and songs of his troopers were turned to sighs and tears. They entered the camp in silence. They were dusty, blood-stained, and weary, and their joy of victory had given place to dejection. The Great King’s headquarters were in the midst of the camp. The Prince caused his battalions to form around the pavilion in a square, with their faces toward it. Then, leaving them still mounted, he went in to inquire concerning the King’s condition.

It was almost sundown. The herons, which had fled away in the morning, were now returning with heavy wings to the marshes along the river. They did not alight, however, but hurriedly flapped away when they found the marshes filled with the dead bodies of men and horses.

The Prince found the chief captains of the army assembled in the outer room of the pavilion. His father was wearily reclining on a couch, while the others stood near in whispering groups; but he rose as the Prince entered, and embraced him and kissed his cheeks, exclaiming:

“My son, to the Guard belongs much of the glory of our great victory. Never have I seen a movement so well made or a blow struck at more opportune time. But alas for the Great King! He is sorely wounded and has a fever. He is now sleeping, but he mutters and tosses in his sleep.”

“May we go in and see him? The Guard waits anxiously to hear his condition,” inquired the Prince.

The King of Iran called the chief surgeon out of the inner room where the wounded monarch lay and, after a whispered consultation with him, bade his son follow and went into the inner room with him. The stricken man lay on a silk-covered couch, apparently asleep, while an attendant waved a fan above his head. Aroused by their entrance, the Great King opened his eyes, half-raised himself upon his elbow, and stared wildly at them. The surgeon gently sought to repress his movements. He quickly recognized the King of Iran and the Prince and smiled as he sank back upon the couch.

The surgeon bowed low before him and exclaimed: “Let not my lord move! It may open the wound and cause it to bleed afresh!”

But Cyrus impatiently waved him aside, and said weakly: “Let be! If I am to die, I die; if I am to live, I will live! I have had a vision! Draw near, my good cousin and my beloved Prince! Is the victory complete? Did many escape?”

The King of Iran answered: “It is your most glorious victory, O King of Kings! Hundreds of thousands of dead Touranians testify to the valor of your arms and the effectiveness of your battle-plans.”

“It is well!” he sighed. “To you, my beloved Prince, is due the thanks of your King, of the army, of all Iran! Oh, my heart leaped when I saw the Guard with spears at rest ride down upon the enemy! It was then that I rushed into the battle. Now I lie here! So be it! I know that I am about to die. I have had a vision. Now I would see the sun set, lest I never see it again. Cause the curtains to be rolled up. This close air stifles me!”

Servants quickly rolled up the heavy side-curtains of the pavilion. At a motion of the sufferer the Prince knelt by his side, placed an arm beneath his shoulders, and gently raised him. Instantly the Guards, standing at attention about the tent, uncovered their heads, bowed to their horses’ necks, and roared out a salute, while tears streamed down their grimy cheeks and many wept aloud. The men of Iran were emotional, weeping or laughing like children as the mood seized them. The Great King smiled upon them and feebly waved his hand in greeting. He whispered to the Prince:

“How they love me! It is sweet to die surrounded by those who love you. Ah, if I might now have my children here! I would give them a parting blessing and die in peace. My sweet daughters, Athura, the wise, and Artistone, my babe! Bardya, my strong Prince, and Cambyses,— But, lay me down! The sun is setting! So sets my life!”

“Say not so, my lord!” exclaimed the Prince, his eyes swimming in tears. “It has been a glorious day!”

“True, my son! And the wrongs of Iran have been avenged. A nation of warriors has been wiped out. No more will the Tourans threaten my people. We shall make this river the boundary of our empire. Fortresses and cities must be built along it so that never again may the yellow men of the plains carry desolation south of it. Advise my sons to this policy. Nay, tell them I have ordered it so!”

The Great King closed his eyes. The tent-sides were then dropped. The troopers dismounted and went into camp, satisfied to have seen the King alive, and praying to Ahura-Mazda, Giver of Life, that he might recover. The King of Iran, with uncovered head, stood for a while looking down upon the sufferer, while his son still knelt at the side of the couch. Presently Cyrus opened his eyes and looked intently upon the sad countenance of the Prince.

“Would that you were my own son, Darius Hystaspis!” he exclaimed. “I love you well and I know that you have deserved well of me. Ask of me what you will. It shall be decreed ere I die!”

The Prince bowed his head till his forehead touched the King’s hands, which nervously clasped his own strong right hand between their palms. Then he looked up into the grave eyes of his father inquiringly. The latter indicated by a nod that he should speak what was in his mind.

“O King of Kings,” he said, “you have been as a father to me! If I have found favor with you, let my reward be very great! I ask no less than that you will give me for my wife your daughter, Athura!”

Cyrus was greatly pleased. He smiled approvingly as he answered: “Truly you ask much! But not too much; and you shall have her, if she so wills. I doubt not that she will gladly consent. She must marry whom she will. Her mother married me even against her father’s will and she was ever the light and joy of life to me. In her love I rejoiced all the days of her life. I have given her no successor. I go to meet her soon. I rejoice to call you son. Would that Athura were here to wed you now! I pledge her to you. Now I have a request to make of you, and your royal father. I constituted my son, Cambyses, regent in my absence, that he might learn to rule. My soul is exceedingly anxious concerning him. His passions are great; he is violent and he endures no opposition to his will. He will need advisers and supporters. My son, Bardya, is of better nature; he is brave but impulsive. Much have I thought of them. It will depend upon you two, King and Prince of Iran, whether the family of Cyrus shall continue to reign. This I have seen. I ask of you that you will pledge me your royal oaths that, as long as Cambyses or Bardya live, you will support them on my throne—Cambyses first, and Bardya second.”

He ceased. The Prince again looked up to his father, who had listened attentively and who now spoke without hesitation: “My son, we are Kings of Iran only. Cyrus, our cousin, is King of Kings. By his own genius he has made this great empire. It is his. He conquered it. He extended his scepter over other peoples. We forfeit none of our hereditary rights by swearing as he requests. As for me, I am ready to swear!”

“And I also!” added the Prince.

The Great King extended his two hands and took the right hands of father and son between his palms, saying, “Is it an oath in the hearing of Ahura-Mazda and His recording angel?”

“It is an oath!” they solemnly answered.

“It is well,” said the King, releasing them. “May Shraosha, the swift messenger of God, take those oaths and register them in heaven! Now I will tell of my vision. I saw Mount Demavend, and, upon its snowy summit, I beheld a great eagle. He spread his wings and, behold! they reached across all the heavens and their shadow covered the earth. The countenance of the eagle, Prince Darius, when I closely observed it, was your countenance. Shall it come to pass that you will overshadow the world? Or will you spread your protecting wings in days to come over this empire and by your help shall my sons reign well? Ahura-Mazda knows! Let his will be done!”

The King’s weak voice ceased. He closed his eyes. The Prince and his father remained silent. A rising wind touched the tent and made it quiver. In the adjacent room was a low murmur of conversation. After a moment’s silence the Great King again opened his eyes and continued:

“Since this empire of mine is new and my will has been its law, there are no laws by which succession to my throne may be regulated. By right of birth, Cambyses should succeed to the supreme power. Yet I am not happy in him. He is inclined to evil ways and regards not the customs of our race. He runs after the folly of the Medes. He seeks the pleasures of Babylon. I have thought much on this. Perhaps it would be just that he should be given Medea, Susiana, Babylonia, and all the western provinces to rule, since their customs he follows. Bardya is not so. He loves our ancient customs. To him I will give supreme rule over Iran and the provinces of Hind, of Hyrcania, and the Scyths and of all our eastern conquests; but he shall acknowledge Cambyses as overlord of the world, aiding him with an army in war, but undisturbed by him in peace. Thus will I do justly and satisfy all Iran, whose people love not Cambyses. I will make a testament and a decree ere I die. Call hither my scribe. I would relieve my mind of care by making such decree. Call in the nobles of Iran to hear my will!”

The scribe came. The nobles of Iran entered the room. They saw the King’s will written down on Egyptian papyrus. Two copies were made. The King signed them and impressed thereon his seal. Then, greatly exhausted, he indicated that he would be alone; and all left his presence to seek refreshment after the day of toil, and to discuss the Great King’s last decree.

It was the duty of the Prince, as commander of the Imperial Guard, to appoint the watches at the King’s pavilion. Otanes, the King’s shield-bearer and personal guard, slept in the outer room and stood at the door on state occasions. There were usually with Otanes several noble youths who acted as pages or orderlies to the Great King. But on this night the King of Iran and several others of the nobility kept silent watch in the outer room, anxiously consulting the surgeons as they went in and out upon their ministrations. The Prince, after setting a double guard around the pavilion, went alone down to the river and for an hour slowly paced back and forth on the low bank along the shore. He wished to be alone with his thoughts.

A violent wind was blowing from the north. The lap and wash of waves, thrown up by its power, and the rustle of reeds and grass, were the only sounds coming to his ears. The subdued noise of the vast encampment drifted away behind him as he looked out across the stream. The moon had not yet appeared. The stars were dim and hazy behind dust-clouds raised by the great wind. Alone thus, though thousands of men were near, while the whispers of the moving air suggested the voices of those wailing spirits released from their mortal bodies in this day’s slaughter, the young man reviewed the past and contemplated uneasily the future.

First in his thoughts, as indeed she had been for years, was Athura, eldest daughter of Cyrus, known to the Greek historians as Atossa, the most famous, most beautiful, and most queenlike woman of her age. He had loved her from the day when he, a youth of fourteen, and she, a child of ten years, had first met and played together in the great park surrounding his father’s palace at Persepolis, where she had come to visit with her mother, the queen. She had often been his companion in sports since the time he had entered the service of the Great King, as a page. Lately he had not seen her often, as his service in the Imperial Guard had called him away to the wars. But, when he had last met her in the ancient city, Bactra, to which place she had accompanied her father when he started on this expedition, they had made mutual avowals of love and pledges of faith, subject to her father’s consent. Now the expedition was ended. He had the consent of Cyrus to their marriage. Happiness seemed to be in store for him.

But the future was not without clouds. Cyrus was dying. What then? The hate-filled countenance of Cambyses arose before his mind. The large, square body of that Prince, the bullet head, the black, dull eye, the fat face, usually expressive of scorn, he well remembered. He seemed to hear again the brutal laugh, the bitter gibe or threat, the coarse words, and the raucous tones of the Prince, as he had heard them often when as boys they played together. Cambyses had hated him, apparently for no other reason than that he could not bully him as he was accustomed to bully other boys. More than once they had engaged in personal encounters; and the officers, who ever guarded the King’s children, had to interfere and separate them. Some of these combats had arisen when he had gone to rescue Athura or Bardya from their brother’s abuse. Cambyses also hated Bardya, whom Cyrus loved. More than once Cyrus himself had inflicted corporal punishment upon the elder Prince for abusing his playmates, and in later years he had often caused him to be confined in his room as a punishment. If Cyrus should die, the violent, degraded, drunken Cambyses would be King, with power absolute of life and death, and able to wreak vengeance upon the royal brother and sisters, as he had often sworn he would do, when he should come into power.

Prince Darius did not fear Cambyses. But if Cambyses should disregard his father’s will and forbid the marriage of Darius and Athura, what would be the result? The Prince involuntarily laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. Cambyses could be overthrown, since the people and the army of Iran loved him not; and the younger Prince Bardya would then reign. Bardya was a friend of Darius and would approve the marriage. But to the Prince came the remembrance of his oath to Cyrus. He had sworn to uphold Cambyses. No matter what the Prince should do or what wrong he should inflict upon him or his friends, he must henceforth support him on his throne! As the possibilities involved in that oath occurred to his mind, the young man smote his hands together and groaned. But he said to himself that perhaps Cambyses, the King, would be different from Cambyses, the man. In any event, the nobles of Iran and the King, his father, would compel Cambyses to give Athura to him. Cambyses would not dare refuse to regard his own father’s pledge.

The moon appeared, a dim, pale disk behind a veil of flying dust. The wind increased in violence. Thin, broken clouds floated across the sky. The river, vaguely seen, was filled with choppy waves. The howl of a wolf came faintly from beyond the stream. A great sadness, a sense of impending danger, filled the soul of the Prince.

A voice aroused him, saying, “Gracious Prince, the King has awakened and is calling for you!” It was one of the King’s pages who thus summoned him. Throwing off his depression, he followed the youth into the tent, pausing only at the door to direct the guards to take additional precautions to prevent the wind from throwing down the swaying shelter. The King turned a wan, pain-drawn countenance towards him as he entered and beckoned him to a low stool at the side of his couch.

“My son,” he said, speaking slowly and with difficulty, “I am unable to sleep. This wound pains me greatly and the wind roars about the tent. I am very lonely. I seem to stand naked and alone before God! I am about to step out into the dark. I would have you near me. You have been with me so many years that you are to me as a son. Now that I have promised my daughter to you, I have a double claim upon you. Sit here, unless you are weary and must sleep. It has been a long, hard day, but a glorious one for Iran!”

“Father, I am not weary,” replied the Prince. “My heart is heavy for you! I pray God you may recover! Is the wound so bad, then? Once before you were hurt in battle and recovered.”

“This wound is fatal. It is poisoned. The weapon that pierced me was unclean. Even now I feel it throb and burn. I know the symptoms. I have watched many a dying officer, wounded by unclean darts. But I am at peace. I have been a man of war all my life; but I have ever had right with me. I have lived uprightly and wronged none. Justice has never been sold by me. Oppression has been rebuked. I have crushed the rulers of nations to free their people from tyranny and misrule. I do not fear to die. I am an Aryan. Ahura-Mazda is God and there is none other! My mind dwells much on the future, my son. Discourse to me of that. You sat at the feet of Belteshazzer, the wise, he that was chief of the college of wisdom in Babylon. He talked to me often of God and of his own people. I made a decree that his people should be returned to their home at Jerusalem and rebuild their temple to God. Call this to my son’s remembrance, when you go to him, and say to him that I lay it upon him to obey. What said Belteshazzer of that which lies beyond death?”

“He taught that the spirit continues to live after the body dies.”

“Yes, truly, so said he to me! But in that he agrees with our Zoroaster.”

“He taught much as did the great Master. Indeed, he agrees that Ahura-Mazda, the Holy One, the Father of Truth, the Life-Giving Spirit, is but another name for the same God he worships as Jah, who is the Father of all spirits and the Giver of Life. He teaches that there is one God, a loving Father, the Eternal One; and that in the far-distant past there were but one man and one woman, from whom sprang all the races of men; and that all worshiped one God, the Father of all; but that many of their children have forgotten Him and have wandered away, making Gods of their own imaginings. He is a mighty prophet and holds communion with messengers from God and with spirits.”

“I have heard wonderful things of him, how that fire will not burn him nor wild beasts harm him. What says Zoroaster of the dying?”

“He taught that Shraosha, the swift messenger, stands ready to receive the soul and to conduct it over the bridge that is straight and narrow into paradise, where the great angel, Bohman, will greet it and say, ‘How happy art thou who hast come hither from mortality to immortality!’ Then will the soul enter upon eternal blessedness.”

“You said that Belteshazzer talks with unseen spirits and is a mighty prophet. Do not the Magi also call up the dead and prophesy?”

“They say so, Sire. But Belteshazzer says that they are liars and that their art is black. He admits that they may talk with spirits, but accuses them of dealing with demons and evil spirits. They worship the spirits who inhabit the dark places of earth and work ill to men.”

The Great King lay silent a moment with closed eyes. At length, heaving a deep sigh, he said:

“It is all a mystery! But I shall soon know. I am troubled concerning Cambyses. I have heard that he has dealings with the Magi and has attended their worship. God forbid that he should fall into their hands! They are a vile sect, regarding neither oath nor promise. They prey upon the weak and superstitious. They would throw down our ancient laws. I have not been intolerant of others’ creeds or ever interfered with their religion. Each nation has continued to worship God in its own manner, giving obedience to me only in matters of government. Can it be said that one God is better than the other? How was I to judge the unknown things of God? But I know that God rules, whether named Ahura-Mazda, Jah, Merodach, Jove, or Ra. Men know him not!”

Again he fell silent, with closed eyes and pallid face turned to the dim light of the lamps which hung from the ridge-pole by chains, flaring in the currents of air and swinging to and fro as the tent rocked under the shocks of the mighty wind.

Rousing himself again, he continued: “I feel that my spirit will soon depart. When it does, I lay upon you the task of conveying my body to Pasargadæ, where you shall deposit it in a suitable tomb. Take half of the Guard with you. Leave the remainder here with the King, your father, who must finish the work I have begun and establish fortresses along this river so that never again may the Touranians recover the land we have conquered, or further molest Iran. Let my body be entombed after the fashion of our fathers. Take a message to Bardya and say that I have blessed him. Restrain him with your advice, that he do not rebel and bring on war with his brother. Take my love and blessing to Athura and Artistone. Into your care I give Athura. May long years of happiness be yours! But I am very weary and I would sleep. Sit here by me. It is pleasant to know that you are near!”

The King closed his eyes and sank into a stupor. The Prince bent his head upon his hands and silently wept. Presently becoming calmer, he sat still in meditation, listening to the irregular breathing of the sufferer. After a while he also slept, with his head resting on his arms, which were folded across his knees. The hours went by, while the great wind continued to bellow around and to whip the awnings of the pavilion and while the life of the Great King slowly flickered out. Darius was awakened by the surgeons, who, alarmed at the long silence in the sick-room, had come in to look at the King.

“Great Cyrus is dead!” he heard one of them say.

CHAPTER III
PREXASPES

CYRUS, the Great King, had been conquered by a greater King. The generals and nobles of his army gathered in solemn council on the day following his death. The King of Iran presided. On him, as upon an anchor in a storm, the others depended; and it was in the hearts of many to declare him successor to the mighty dead. There was no love in their hearts towards Cambyses, the heir. His open contempt for their ancient customs and religion and his erratic and brutal disposition had not attracted them. The army had given the throne and his distinctive eminence as King of Kings to Cyrus; it could give them to another, now that he was gone, in spite of his expressed will.

At the right hand of the King stood the Prince, his son, his eyes heavy with sorrow. Otanes, Gobryas, Hydarnes, Vomisces, and a score of Persians of lesser note were there; and also Prexaspes, the Mede.

As usual Prexaspes was carefully dressed; he was ornate in golden, jewel-set armor and half enveloped in a silken cloak, the famous Medean robe. His hair and beard were curled and perfumed. He moved with exaggerated grace and carried his fine head haughtily. His brothers-in-arms could ill conceal their contempt for his foppish manners. They were rough, ready men, straight of look and direct of speech. They loved not an Aryan who copied the manners of Babylon and Nineveh and, as they suspected, the vices of those ultra-civilized peoples. But they knew that Prexaspes was a brave and able commander of horse and on that account ignored his manners. He was a fair sample of the higher classes of Medes, who, residing on the borders of the more effeminate peoples of the great Mesopotamian valley, had been infected by their manners and customs.

The Medes, in the former days, when they had conquered the lands now occupied by them, had been sturdy, simple people. Centuries of intercourse with the Assyrians and Babylonians had materially changed their qualities and had not only affected their dress and manner of living, but had injected into their ancient religion, which was a monotheistic creed, new ideas that were polytheistic, much to the indignation of their brethren of Persia and Bactra who still clung to the ancient faith. The Medes had permitted the fire-worshipers of the northern provinces to practice their occult arts and had to some extent adopted those practices. There had, as a consequence, grown up a priest class of Magi, or seers, wise men, prophets, who claimed to communicate with the gods of hill, mountain, and plain, and who did undeniably work wonders that could not be duplicated by the priests in the Aryan temples, and thereby not only discomfited the latter in the eyes of the people, but impressed the rulers of Medea in their favor.

It was said that Prexaspes was a follower of the Magi, but on that subject he adroitly avoided conversation. Cyrus, whose policy had ever been to conciliate those he conquered, had recognized the military ability of Prexaspes and had forborne to examine closely into his creed or his manner of life. In return the latter had given him faithful service and had been extremely useful in dealing with the Medean nobility and in recruiting for the army.

As soon as all who had been bidden were assembled, the King of Iran addressed them briefly: “I have called you together to consider the great calamity that has befallen this army and the empire. Great Cyrus sleeps with his fathers. The decisive victory of yesterday resulted thus in greater loss to us than to the enemy. The command of this army has fallen upon me until a messenger can be sent to bring orders from Cambyses, who, by the will of his august father, succeeds to the throne of the King of Kings. It was the will of Cyrus that we hold all this country and make the Jaxartes the future boundary of Iran. It shall be done. We shall remain here until the enemy shall fully submit, and we shall build fortresses along this river. On this spot where great Cyrus departed this life, let us found a city named in honor of the Great King. It shall be a monument to his glorious victory and a bulwark of the empire. What say you?”

He paused. Otanes, upon whom the King’s eyes rested, answered: “Let it be so! Let the King’s will be law!” Nods and exclamations of assent came from the company.

The King continued: “The Great King ordered that his body be taken to Pasargadæ, there to rest in the tomb prepared by him and in which rests the body of his wife. He directed that my son take the Imperial Guard for an escort and convey his body, when embalmed, to its resting-place. This shall be done. As for me, I shall remain here until the frontier be made safe. My son shall select such of you as he desires to accompany him on his honorable mission. It will be necessary to send a special messenger to Cambyses with the Great King’s last decree. He shall travel with the Guard and my son until he reach Bactra; but then he must go more swiftly, in order that Cambyses may make fitting preparation for the funeral of his father. Who will volunteer for this service?”

Silence fell upon the company. There was no desire in any of them to greet Cambyses. They would rather have deposed him. But Prexaspes stood forth and said: “O King, if it please you, I will bear the message to Cambyses, the King of Kings.”

The King regarded Prexaspes a moment thoughtfully. He liked not this man, but he could think of no reason to deny him. He said:

“You shall go. But swear before us here that you will faithfully carry to Cambyses this decree and assure him of our support!”

“I swear!” responded Prexaspes, solemnly, lifting both hands towards the sun and turning his face to it. A frown passed over the calm features of the King. He liked not this exhibition of Mithra worship. But he made no comment, only saying:

“Say to the Great King, Cambyses, that I, Hystaspis, King of Iran, have sworn to support him and his brother on their thrones according to the will of Cyrus; and my word shall be kept! Advise him also that the ancient laws and customs in Iran must not be disregarded. His great father gave heed to them; and on them the Aryan peoples lay great weight. In their observance will he gain strength; and the men of Iran will in return dash to pieces his enemies. Do I not speak truth?”

The speaker’s eyes glanced inquiringly over the company. The black, sparkling eyes of Prexaspes likewise swept over it and noted the expression on every countenance. Nods of approval and unanimous spoken assent indicated the sentiment of all. Prexaspes, bowing low before the King, answered:

“I will exactly report your words, O King! I shall take great pleasure in assuring the Great King that all here are his loyal supporters.”

The King was about to dismiss the council, when a messenger rode up from the east in great haste. He was from the pickets stationed near the battlefield. The King waited till he had dismounted and drawn near.

“A message, gracious King, from Captain Mardux of the scouts!” cried the messenger, bowing low till his hands touched the earth.

“Speak!” commanded the King.

“The captain is approaching with a company of Touran princes, who come to the Great King to tender submission. He has halted at the outer limits of the camp to await your orders. Shall he slay them or bring them hither?”

“Bring them hither!”

The messenger again bowed low, backed from the circle, and sprang on his horse. As soon as he was gone, the King said:

“It will be best not to inform these men of the death of Cyrus. No lie need be spoken. But I am the King. Cyrus is not dead but sleepeth. Send hither an interpreter.”

Gobryas, to whom the last command was spoken, departed to summon an interpreter. Meanwhile the King caused a purple-covered chair to be brought out and placed on a platform made of camp-chests covered with a costly rug. In this he seated himself, and with his son at his right hand, Otanes at his left, and the other nobles near, all dressed in glittering mail and fully armed, he was ready to receive and impress the coming delegation. A glittering crown of gold studded with gems, high and pointed, like the miter of a priest, was placed on his head. In his hand was a scepter, a silver rod tipped with a golden pomegranate. Right royal was his aspect; and the stern countenances of his captains added to the impressiveness of the scene.

Captain Mardux, a stout, bluff soldier, who had won his promotion from the ranks by prowess and shrewdness, presently rode up with a company of cavalry, escorting five men of swarthy countenance, long-haired, almond-eyed, mounted on powerful ponies, sitting on goatskins instead of saddles, and clothed in silken garments and pointed fur caps. The captain caused them to dismount and led them before the King, where, in obedience to an expressive gesture of the captain’s hands, they threw themselves flat upon the earth in salutation. Here they lay face-downward while the captain reported as follows:

“These dogs, O King, came to us with hands in air, showing themselves unarmed and asked to be taken to the Great King. I know some words of their language and so understood that they come as messengers from the Tourans.”

“It is well, Mardux. Bid them rise to their knees.”

Captain Mardux roused the prostrate men with his toe and made them assume a kneeling posture. From this position, they glanced with ferret eyes at the King and his supporters. They were evidently greatly impressed, but their sullen countenances exhibited no fear. Gobryas now appeared with an interpreter, a man of Bactra who had conducted trading expeditions over the great plains in more peaceable days. Thereupon the following colloquy occurred between the King and one of them:

“Who are you and whence come you?”

“We are messengers of the Queen of the Massagetæ. We come from her encampment, a day’s journey eastward.”

“What seek you?”

“We come to greet the Great King, Cyrus, whose power even the gods cannot withstand. Behold! our King is dead on yonder field, and the King’s son is dead. Our people are broken. The bodies of our slain choke the great river. Only old men and children are left. Who can withstand Cyrus? Like the lightning and the whirlwind he sweeps up from the south! He smites and men are not! We come to tender unto him a handful of earth, a broken twig, and a cup of water, and to ask his pardon, that we may henceforth be his men and live under the shadow of his arms.”

“Cyrus, the Great King, sleeps and we cannot awaken him. Behold me, the King of Iran, Hystaspis! I will receive your tokens of submission.”

“It is well! We know of you, O King of Iran, surnamed the Just. Have we not heard of your strong arm and most just and merciful heart? If it be permitted, we will arise and present to you our tokens of submission, asking mercy for our remnant of people.”

“It is permitted!”

The men arose. One produced a small casket of carved wood inlaid with ivory, and opening it so that it revealed the brown earth of the desert therein, he solemnly placed it in the outstretched hand of the King. Another produced a twig of wood plucked from a stunted oak, and another a small jar of water, which were solemnly received and passed on to Otanes by the King, who then said:

“Hear now the King’s sentence! You are pardoned. Enough blood has been shed to atone for past injury. You are brave men whom the Great King will delight to own as his children. Your lands and all your property are forfeit to him, but these he will let you use so long as you serve him in good faith. But in order that you may enjoy his protection, it will be necessary for you to render to him each summer season ten thousand good horses, as many cattle, and a like number of sheep. That he may have evidence of your good faith and in order that your people may be instructed in his laws, you must send to our city of Bactra each year one hundred of your most noble youths, to enter the King’s service, whose lives shall be forfeit should you rebel. Furthermore, you shall maintain for the King’s service ten thousand horsemen, fully equipped, who shall march whither he wills. You shall guard these lands against all foes. In return for these light services, the power of the Great King shall be over you, your foes shall be his foes, and his mighty arm will give you peace. You shall go out and come in according to your customs, but you shall molest no man who acknowledges the Great King as his master. I have spoken!”

The ambassadors bowed themselves to the earth, and their spokesman replied:

“Let all these conditions be written on tablets, O Gracious King! Most merciful and gracious is your heart! Our people will most gladly submit and will faithfully observe these conditions. And now we beg that as an earnest of our good intent, we may bring to you our first offering of ten thousand horses, ten thousand sheep, and as many cattle, for the use of our Lord and his army. So may the Great King see that we deal not with crooked tongues or lying lips.”

“It is so ordered!” assented the King, graciously. “While we have a sufficiency of victuals, fresh meat will be welcome to the army. The treaty shall be written on tablets. Go now with Captain Mardux and partake of refreshments ere you return to your people. Say to them that we shall build here a great city to be named the City of Cyrus, and it shall be a place for trade where they may exchange the product of their herds for the fruits of the south countries. Let them send laborers to assist, and the King’s bounty shall be sufficient for them. But of this we will give you further information at a future day.”

The ambassadors withdrew, greatly pleased that the sentence of the King was not more burdensome. A week later, the required horses, cattle, and sheep were brought to the camp, and the one hundred youths as hostages were surrendered. Within a year, the walls of a city were begun and a colony of loyal Aryans located within them as the nucleus of an emporium which flourished there a thousand years, rejoicing in the name of the Great King who there died for his race.

Meanwhile expert embalmers, who had learned their art in Egypt, prepared the body of Cyrus for its long journey to the city of his fathers. When well prepared, it was enclosed in a heavy casket, placed on a four-wheeled chariot drawn by ten royal white stallions, and, encompassed by the Imperial Guard, was conveyed to its tomb. The great army, drawn up in two long parallel lines, gave sad farewell to its hero-king as the funeral car passed along between, escorted by the Guard; and tears streamed down every Aryan cheek. To Prince Hystaspis, who led the van, with Gobryas at his side, a roar of acclamation, a royal salute, and shouted wishes for a safe journey and quick return, came from the successive companies he passed. Prexaspes, riding some paces to the rear, noted the great demonstration and pondered deeply thereon.

All day the funeral car and its splendid escort moved slowly southward. The Prince of Iran was silent, absorbed in meditation. Gobryas vainly endeavored to engage him in conversation. The troopers noted his downcast mien and whispered together concerning it. It was well known that Cambyses hated the Prince. Every soldier in the army had discussed it with his fellow since the Great King died. All had hoped that King Hystaspis would claim Cyrus’ throne, his by right of birth and age, if being descended from an older branch of the Achæmenian family counted; but they had been disappointed when the King had announced his support of Cambyses. What if the Prince could be persuaded to seize the throne? It was a new throne anyway, this throne of the King of Kings, the Emperor of many nations. If he would take it, they would give it to him! So reasoned the army. King Hystaspis would accede if the Prince should declare his acceptance. It would be better to go against Cambyses sword in hand and to contest for the prize of sovereignty with him, than to be seized and slain by the madman after submitting to his sway. All day on the march and much of that night around their camp-fires, the troopers discussed the matter. The result of their consultation appeared next morning. The Prince, after a restless night in which evil dreams disturbed his slumber when he did succeed in his efforts to sleep, rose and went forth just as the sun was rising. He was greatly surprised to see his ten thousand men drawn up in solid masses, forming a hollow square around his tent. He was nonplussed when every cap was hurled into the air, every sword struck buckler and every head bowed low in salute to him. His face went white with emotion and then became dark with wrath as he heard the thunderous shout:

“Hail, King of Kings! All hail!”

He raised his hand, beckoning for silence, and, addressing a group of officers, he said, speaking sternly and in a loud voice,

“What means this?”

One of the officers advanced a pace, and, bowing low, said:

“Son of Achæmenes, Cyrus, the Great King, is dead! Your Father, the illustrious King of Iran, has refused to take his place. But you have not refused. Now we know that Cambyses hates you and will do you evil. He is no Aryan, moreover, and is said to be a madman. Heed this, our prayer! Let us recognize you as the King of Kings and our good right arms will make it so!”

As he ceased speaking, a roar of assent went up from ten thousand throats. The soldiers extended their hands to him in entreaty. Again he beckoned for silence. When the clamor ceased, he answered:

“What you ask is impossible to grant! As my father swore to Cyrus, so did I! I am bound by a sacred oath to the Great King, whose body lies there on its car, but whose spirit even now, perhaps, hovers near us; and I must support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones forever. My word is given; it shall not return! This throne is the throne of Cyrus; he set it up and his children are entitled to it. It is true, the King of Iran by right of descent might have contested with Cyrus the throne of Persia; but he had no right to contest with him that which his mighty arm brought in subjection to him. As King of Iran, my father is your ruler. I, his son, am most happy to be your Prince. But Cambyses is overlord and such must remain! I have no fear. Cambyses, the Great King, will not be empowered to do me harm unless I rebel. You have rebelled. You know the punishment of treason is death; but I will pardon you now if you will swear before Ahura-Mazda to remain faithful to Cambyses, the Great King, so long as he respects the laws of Iran. Up with your hands and swear!”

There was a pause. The troopers looked to their officers and upon each other. A murmur ran through the great host. Would the Prince yield? They knew his firmness and his love of truth and that he had never broken oath or promise. Looking upon his countenance, sad but set with determination, they decided to obey. But some wept aloud, and tears flowed down the cheeks of others. The captains raised their hands, saying: “We swear, O Prince of Iran! You alone may release this oath!” And the soldiers repeated solemnly but without enthusiasm: “We swear, O Prince, and you alone may release this oath!”

Thus did the Prince of Iran for the sake of an oath put aside the highest position earth could give. Dismissing the assembly with a wave of his hand, he turned in great agitation to enter his tent, that he might regain that calmness for which in all difficult situations he was ever noted. As he turned, his eyes met those of Prexaspes, who occupied a tent near his, and, who, standing in his tent-door, had been a witness of the whole incident. He noted on the face of the Mede great astonishment. He gravely acknowledged the profound bow with which the latter greeted him and passed into his tent. Later, on the march that day, the Prince called Prexaspes to his side, and said to him:

“Lord Prexaspes, you were witness when the Imperial Guard sought my consent to rebel. You are going in before Cambyses, the King of Kings; and I place it upon your honor to deal justly with me in this matter. These men are like children, loving me as I love them, and thought they were doing me a service. If you see fit to speak to the King of it, assure him of my loyalty. Also say that I myself will stand or fall with these men. No harm must come to them. The King of Kings shall have loyal service of me and of these as long as they remain with me.”

“What need to report?” rejoined Prexaspes, warmly. “Truly it was no light thing your oath required of you! I marvel that you refused, knowing as you do how the King of Kings hates you, hates your friends, hates his brother, who is dear to you, and even his sister, the lovely Athura! Rest assured that, should this come to his ears, I will truthfully describe your actions. How can I forget that day at the crossing of the Araxes, when my Babylonian archers and I were surrounded by howling Scythians and we were hard-pressed? Was it not the Prince of Iran who came with the Guard to our rescue? I may not be a follower of Zoroaster, Great Prince, but I am not ungrateful!”

The Prince looked into the eyes of Prexaspes and saw that he was sincere. “I trust you,” he said. “Let us hope that Cambyses as King may forget his dislikes as a man.”

CHAPTER IV
ATHURA

ANCIENT Bactra, the mother city of the Aryan race, was situate in the midst of a beautiful valley surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges. It was a fertile valley. Through it rushed the limpid river, Adirsiah, coming down from the distant snow-capped mountains in the east and finding an outlet northward to the Oxus. Though it was summer, the hills were green and the valley was luxuriant with full-leafed trees and blooming gardens. It seemed a paradise indeed to the Prince of Iran and his wayworn guard, marching in from the arid northern plain. Bactra was a great city. Many square miles dotted with ruins at this day mutely tell of its extent. Here the mythical Kaiomur, possibly a son of Japhet, settled, and planted a race from which many nations have sprung. It was not a walled city. The men of Iran relied on their good right arms for defense. Indeed, they were not accustomed to await invasion; they invaded others. In the open, with galloping steed and spear at rest they swept the enemy from their path, or on foot, with bow and arrow they smote him or closed with him in close mortal combat with sword and battle-ax. Their valor made a wall more potent than stones.

Like a hive did the ancient city nourish myriad lives and send forth swarms of sturdy men, who, under the leadership of able men, took with them wives, children, and goods and forcibly possessed new homes in distant climes. One stream passed westward to the lower Caspian and, branching there, flowed northward, westward, and southward. Hellas, Asia Minor, the Saxon woods, Scandinavia, and Western Europe received them, not perhaps in one year or one century, but in successive years, as successive waves with a rising tide ever encroach on the shore. Medea and Persia received them. Ancient records seem to indicate that they dominated the great valley of the Euphrates and Tigris and even planted families in Syria on the shores of the Great Sea; and it is sometimes argued that the ancestors of Abraham, father of the Hebrews, came from Iran bringing their knowledge of one God with them. It is at least true that the monarchs of the Medes and Persians ever favored the Hebrews and acknowledged their Jehovah as the same God they themselves worshiped under the name Ahura-Mazda, or the Life-Giving Spirit. Another swarm crossed the southern mountains and occupied India. But eastward and northeastward, in obedience to some primal instinct that seems to have driven them in all other directions, the Aryans never penetrated. The slant-eyed, yellow races, protected by the vast mountain ranges and desert plains of Tibet, multiplied in peace on the shores of the Pacific Ocean and threw out their swarms northward and eastward into the Americas and the islands of the south seas. Occasionally their hordes, under the general designation of Tourans, pressed upon their western neighbors by way of the plains of Siberia, and later, as Huns, Turks, and Tartars, succeeded in overpowering, by weight of vast numbers, the provinces so long protected by Aryan valor; but not until that valor had been forgotten in the luxuries of an enervating civilization.

Bactra was at the intersection of main highways of commerce. Here the great caravan road from Rhages, to which flowed by different routes the trade of Persia and Medea, of Egypt, Babylonia, Syria, and Europe, intersected the roads from India and Tourania. Here the beautiful wares of Babylon and Nineveh, of Samos and Damascus, of Egypt and the Ionian cities and of Greece were exchanged for the fabrics of India and the products of the northern plains. Here caravans outfitted for trade in distant lands. The great market-place, an open square on the shore of the Adirsiah, near the center of the city, was ever lively with the movement of men of different colors and wearing as many different dresses; of camels ever complaining and groaning; of donkeys, braying; of beautiful horses, exhibiting their points; and of a thousand vehicles for transporting goods. Around three sides were dome-roofed stores, where the wealth of all nations was displayed;, where gold, silver, precious stones, beautiful earthenwares, ivory, rugs, weapons, fruits, grains, and wearing apparel were exhibited for exchange or for sale, and the noisy shouts of traders were heard the whole day. Groups of soldiers swaggered along, keeping the peace. Teachers and priests in long robes walked with solemn pace contemplative; magistrates and nobles rode through with lofty aspect; the countryman, then as ever, wandered about in open-eyed curiosity, loved and respected by all Aryans, but nevertheless simple-minded and apt to be cheated; and the humble laborer of the city, rough-spoken but shrewd, boldly jostled any foreigner who might cross his path.

The royal palace occupied an eminence sloping down to the river, near the eastern limits of the city, its stately walls, and porticos dimly seen through the leafy trees of the park surrounding it. Other mansions of the rich and noble, each surrounded by garden or park, clustered near. The narrow, irregular streets were bordered by the houses and shops of the commercial class. On the outskirts, the humbler cottages of the poor were built. On all sides lay the gardens and fields in which were raised the vegetables consumed by the vast population.

Couriers had brought to Prince Bardya at Bactra news of his father’s death. A period of mourning had been proclaimed. When the funeral car with its guard drew near the city, a decree was issued and proclaimed on all the street corners, commanding all to leave their tasks and to observe a day of special mourning. A great procession marched out of the city to meet the dead king. A thousand horsemen, four abreast, led the way. Prince Bardya, riding a great white horse, rode alone, with bowed head and sorrowful demeanor. Following him were two litters, carried on the shoulders of stout black slaves; these bore the royal daughters of Cyrus, Athura and Artistone. A thousand or more nobles, magistrates, travelers of note, and rich men rode next. Countless multitudes of all classes closed the procession or traveled along the way through the fields, eager to see and to hear.

The Prince of Iran, leaving his camp equipage at a ford of the river a league below the city, advanced slowly with the funeral car and his ten thousand weary, wayworn guards, to meet the procession. Coming to an open field, wherein stood several great oaks, he caused the funeral car to stop beneath the branches of one of the trees and massed his guard in an open square around it, leaving a way open for the royal Prince and his sisters to approach the bier. Then, accompanied by Gobryas, he rode on to meet the procession. The advance guards of Prince Bardya opened to let him pass through, forming in lines on either side of the way.

The Prince of Iran and Gobryas dismounted as they were about to meet the son of Cyrus; and the latter likewise dismounted, and, hastening to them, embraced them affectionately, while tears dimmed all eyes.

“Hail, dear friends!” was his greeting. “It is pleasant to meet you even though sadness comes with you.” He kissed the Prince of Iran and embraced him. “My sisters are here. Let us go to them,” he then said.

The litters drew near and were placed on the ground by their brawny carriers. The curtains of the foremost were parted and from it emerged a young woman, heavily veiled and dressed in rich but somber clothing. As her brother and his two friends approached, she drew aside the veil from her face, and, smiling through tears upon the Prince of Iran, extended to him her hand. He bent knee before her and reverently kissed the extended hand.

“Greeting, Prince of Iran!” she said in a low, sweet voice, wherein gladness struggled with sadness. “Arise! Should a Prince of Iran kneel to any person?”

“To one only in the whole world!” was his reply, arising and looking down into her glorious eyes. “If I were not here on so sad an errand, this would be my happiest day. I bring to you the last message of love and farewell from the King of Kings. His last thoughts and words were of you and of the little sister here.”

He turned to greet Artistone, who now came forward from her litter, and gravely bent to kiss the little hand she gave him.

“Come!” said Bardya, “let us go and greet the dead. When we return to the palace we shall renew our acquaintance and you shall tell us all that our beloved father said.”

Without further conversation they walked between the lines of massed soldiery, who saluted as they passed, to the funeral car, around which stood a score of officers with drawn swords as a guard of honor. They ascended the great car, drew aside the heavy curtains, with which it was surrounded, and stood in the presence of the dead. The casket had been partially opened and some of the wrappings over the face of the remains had been removed, that they might look again upon the beloved features. Royalty for the moment was forgotten and the bereaved children wept; and, in an instant, a great wave of emotion swept over the vast multitude. Men of all stations, women of all classes and their children, lifted up their voices in loud lamentation. The hero, under whose mighty shadow they had so long rested and been safe, was no more! Cyrus, the well-beloved, was gone! Alas and alas! wailed the people. The glowing sun smiled upon the snowy peaks in the east, the green hills in the west, and the lovely valley with its rippling stream, and all nature seemed happy. Only this myriad of human beings voiced their woe. No greater tribute could have been given to the mighty dead.

But weeping must have an end. The Prince and his sisters descended from the car and returned to the palace. The casket, escorted by the multitudes, was conveyed to a temple, which stood in the park surrounding the palace, and was there kept while arrangements were made for its further transportation to Persia.

Prexaspes, having been given audience by Prince Bardya, was furnished with an escort and sent on his way to Cambyses at Hamadan. He was directed to inform the King of Kings that his brother and sisters would accompany the body of their father to Pasargadæ. The determination of Bardya to attend his father’s corpse to its tomb gave the Prince of Iran much concern. It would place Bardya within the power of King Cambyses, whose uncertain temper might lead him to fratricide. Knowing the disposition of Cambyses and his long-standing hatred towards Bardya, and fearing that a conflict would inevitably arise over the divided authority left them by the will of Cyrus, the Prince sought to persuade Bardya to remain in Bactra, whose people would protect him. But Bardya would not be persuaded. He was a bold youth and thought that he would be as safe among the Persians as among the Bactrians.

The palace of Bactra was the property of its ancient line of kings. Here the Kings of Iran were crowned, and from it went forth all royal decrees. Here King Hystaspis in early youth had resided with his queen, and here Darius, their son, had been born. But when Cyrus of Persia became conqueror of Medea and assumed the title of King of Kings, he admitted that Persia was a part of Iran and placed it likewise under the rule of Hystaspis, but on condition that the latter should acknowledge him as overlord of all. King Hystaspis entertained for his great cousin the most lively admiration and affection. He cared not to dispute with him world authority. He was a mystic, a lover of learning and of his fellow-men. He would much rather have sat at the feet of Zoroaster and delved into the mystery of life and the greater mystery of death than rule as King. But he accepted the duties of kingship as a trust for his people and stoutly protected them from their enemies as well as in the enjoyment of their ancient rights. He had accepted the proposition of Cyrus and under him had ruled all Iran, including Persia. His authority even extended over Medea in the absence of Cyrus, although, the capital of Cyrus’ empire being at Hamadan, the Great King generally regulated the internal affairs of Medea himself.

King Hystaspis had then built for himself a palace on the banks of the royal river Pulwar in Persia near where it flowed into the Araxes and about thirty miles below or west of Pasargadæ, around which arose a great city known to history as Persepolis, where in winter he might enjoy a less rigorous climate than at Bactra. There he and his queen loved to reside in the midst of a great park, surrounded by men and women of congenial spirit, embowered in the flowers and foliage of a semi-tropic vegetation with the great plain of Merv, a very paradise under irrigation, lying before them. His provinces were under the rule of governors. The load of executive duties fell upon his officers. Only in times of war did he leave his retreat, except that once each year he returned to Bactra for some weeks of administrative work.

During the absence of King Hystaspis and his son with Cyrus on the expedition against the Tourans, Bardya and his sisters had been guests in the palace at Bactra. This was a rambling structure, one story in height, adorned with a portico whose tall stone pillars supported a heavy wooden roof and gave to its front the appearance of a temple. The walls of the palace were of roughly hewn stone, thick and massive. There were many wings, all gable-roofed and rudely ornate with buttresses and overhanging eaves. Narrow windows and doors gave light and air to the interior. It being summer, the windows were protected by heavy wooden bars only, the winter-time shutters having been removed. Gauze curtains on the inside were hung over them, more to exclude insects than for beauty. The doors were of heavy wood, bound with brazen bands cut in ornate figures. Inside, the many rooms were fitted luxuriously, with bright, soft rugs on the stone floors and with figured draperies on the walls, where, also, hung armor and weapons. Divans, couches, chairs, and tables richly upholstered and set with precious metals and ivory constituted the furniture. In the midst of the palace was an open court, where a fountain gushed up from a rocky islet in the middle of a pool and where flowering shrubs perfumed the air. The servants’ quarters were at the rear, and, not far away, was another building where a company of soldiers had quarters.

The white stone walls of a small temple could be seen three hundred paces to the west of the palace, in the midst of great oaks and elms. There had Zoroaster taught and had exercised the offices of chief priest of Iran, and there beneath its altar lay buried his saintly bones. There a corps of priests kept the sacred fire ever burning and daily uttered prayers for the King and his people. There, before entering upon any long journey or going to war, the King of Iran offered his sacrifices and raised his hands to the Great Life-giving Spirit of Heaven. There, now, within its sacred portals, reposed for a time the body of the Great King.

The ground sloped gently northward from the palace down to the shore of the Adirsiah and was graced with many large trees. A low stone wall surrounded the palace park, except where the river bounded its front. There were benches beneath the elms on the river shore, where one could sit and look upon the distant northern mountains or at the rapid stream, rushing in light green splendor through its narrow, rock-bound channel and with sighing murmur giving an undertone to the songs of birds. Here at even came Athura, after having listened to the chant of the priests, celebrating the close of the day as she knelt by her father’s bier. She had come hither to be alone with her sorrow.

The air was warm and balmy. A cooler breeze was beginning to blow down from the mountains; it played with the dark hair above her brow. The scarflike veil, which commonly served as a head-dress, was thrown aside and rested on her shoulders, exposing the wavy mass of hair upon her head and the gem-studded band that encircled it like a crown. Her tall, well-developed body was robed in a long mantle of dark, soft fabric, somewhat like the Grecian robe, caught up in the folds at the left side so as to expose the tip of a sandaled foot, and secured by a girdle of golden links at the waist. The short sleeves of an under jacket covered her arms to the elbow. Bracelets of gold set with gems graced her wrists. No pen has ever described her beauty or the royal grace of her demeanor. Through the dim vista of the ages comes a picture of dark brown eyes, in the depths of which shone all the tenderness of womanhood with its all-embracing sympathy and boundless capacity for love, and all the fearlessness of a pure, proud spirit, accustomed to power and authority. Comes also a vision of a fair complexion, pure Caucasian, or rather Aryan; a lofty brow, inherited from her father; a profile, now known as Grecian, but not modern Grecian; an expressive mouth, where sweetness dwelt, but which could show firmness and even sternness when necessary; a smile that would raise a worshiper to heaven; a frown before which the boldest would falter.

In those days and among that people, woman held high and honorable place. The servility of the Semitic races, aped by later Persian rulers, had not yet degraded her. As in Greece and Rome, where men of kindred blood dwelt, so among the Iranians, woman held a most honorable place. Man ruled the world; but his heart was ruled by a noble woman. Coming of such a race, where equality made her sex noble, this royal princess exhibited in her carriage a spirit before which men bowed, not because she was high-born and of royal lineage, but because she was a woman.

Of her tradition has spoken much and history little. All agree that she was the most famous woman of her age. Some would have her the wife of three kings: of Cambyses, her brother, of the false Bardya, or Smerdis, and of Darius, son of Hystaspis. Others declare that her sister, Artistone, was the wife of the latter. Others, that Artistone was the ill-fated wife of Cambyses. This is certain, that she was the high-spirited daughter of Cyrus, that she was indeed the wife of the greatest of the Kings of Iran and the mother of a line of kings; and history indicates that she was the real ruler of the empire while her son wore the crown. But such history had not yet been written, when, on this summer evening, she stood on the shore of the river Adirsiah and sadly meditated on the pleasant days of her girlhood spent in the company of her father. Her mother had died when she was a child of ten years; and, thereafter, her father had made her his companion, delighting in her wisdom as much as in her affection. She had traveled with him as he moved through his great empire, had played in the ancestral park at Pasargadæ, had ruled his palace at Susa, had viewed with wonder the mighty walls and hanging gardens of Babylon, and had dwelt much in Hamadan, the chief capital of the empire. There rose in her memory the proud, beautiful face of her mother, the cruel, sneering countenance of Cambyses, the smiling, mischievous face of Bardya, the little sister Artistone, and the grave, kindly father, whose stately manner never departed even in the privacy of home-life. Into this picture of her childhood life there came another face and form, one that of late years had filled much of her life with the sweetness of love. She remembered her first meeting with the Prince of Iran, at Pasargadæ, and how afterwards as a tall youth of fourteen years he came to her father’s court to enter his service, and that he talked much of his mother, of his father, and of his studies. He had at once assumed a sort of protectorate over Bardya and herself, interposing often between them and the cruel elder brother, Cambyses, and even coming to blows with him in their behalf. With him she had studied, had learned the art of writing and reading, had sat at the feet of the great seer of Babylon, Belteshazzer, also known as Daniel, the Hebrew, and had learned to ride, to hunt, and to handle arms. She had not neglected the arts practiced by the women of her race. To cook, to sew, to spin, to weave wonderful tapestries,—all these she had learned. Many times, disguised, she and Bardya and the young Prince of Iran had traveled from place to place, enjoying adventures among the common people and sometimes incurring great risks. Then wars had come, and her brothers and the young Hystaspis had followed the Great King on his campaigns, that they too might learn the war-game.

She sat down on a rustic seat beneath a great elm and with hands folded in her lap gazed dreamily at the swirling stream, into which the shades of evening were darkly falling. Bitter-sweet thoughts, the sense of personal loss, the uncertainty of the future, the near presence of him she loved,—a hundred passing impressions stirred her soul. What would Cambyses do, now that he was to be the King of Kings? She and Bardya had often discussed the subject. She knew that the proud spirit of the latter would suffer no oppression from the King. Would there be civil war? Would brother fight brother? She feared so, knowing the hatred Cambyses felt towards Bardya, a feeling that the latter reciprocated.

A footfall startled her. Turning, she beheld the Prince of Iran coming towards her. She rose with a smile of welcome and extended her hands to him. How noble he seemed to her! He had put off his armor, and over his close-fitting tunic of soft, velvety cloth had thrown the elegant Medean cloak in common use among the noble-born. Sandals protected his feet, and the interlaced thongs with which they were held partially covered his ankles and legs to the knee, to which the skirt of his tunic descended. The open folds of the long cloak gave freedom to his limbs and displayed the broad purple sash which served as a belt and the golden chain from which his short sword swung. His head was bare, displaying a mass of dark hair, slightly curled, and combed back from his broad brow. He had washed away the stains of travel. His sun-tanned skin glowed with health. His eyes were alight with love.

A bulbul broke forth into song in the branches of the tree above them. The breeze rustled gently amidst the leaves. The gurgle and rush of the stream rose softly. A thousand whispering voices seemed to waken all about, as if the spirits of the woods talked of these two standing there in close embrace. Love, without which no human soul desires to live, which raises men to God, which makes of earth a heaven, which in its all-abounding strength makes men and women strong, the chief attribute of God and the chief element in His children, which links congenial spirits together for eternity and drives out evil, here sat enthroned.

After the first warm greetings were over, they sat down side by side on the rustic seat.

“I may tell you now,” he said, “that your father gave consent to our marriage. How I wish you could have been present so that he could have placed your hand in mine! Now, if we observe the ancient customs of our race, your eldest brother must give his consent.”

“But even then we must wait until the days of mourning for my father are finished!”

“I know, but what if Cambyses does not consent?”

She was silent for a moment. This possibility had occurred to both. The word of Cambyses the Great King would be law. He might if he willed give his sister to another.

“That Cambyses is not fit to reign!” she exclaimed presently. “My father should have decreed Bardya his successor! Am I, the daughter of Cyrus, to have no part in this empire? To have no will of my own? Let the people of Iran answer! What say you?”

The Prince was silent now. The oath sworn to the dead Cyrus recurred to his mind. It would indeed have been better had Cyrus willed that Bardya should be his successor, for then the Aryans would have cheerfully followed his will. As he replied not, she continued:

“Who, in truth, is entitled to reign in Iran? If birth gives right, is not the gracious King, your father, this day entitled to succeed my father? For he is of an older branch of the Achæmenian family. Let him assert this right! The men of Iran will uphold him. As for me, I shall be satisfied to become queen of the world, when you succeed to your father’s place.”

“Of all these matters have I thought much,” he replied slowly. “It is true my father is entitled to reign in Iran; but the empire of Cyrus reaches on every side beyond the utmost limits of Iran; and it was his by right of conquest. It is a new empire based on the provinces of Persia and Medea over which he was always entitled to reign. Perhaps our ancient customs and laws would give my father the best right to succeed. But he has refused to assert that right. He has sworn to Cyrus to support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones forever. I, too, in obedience to my father’s will, when the Great King lay dying, made solemn oath that I would likewise support them on their thrones, according to the terms of his will. Our oaths cannot return. But such oaths do not take away our ancient right to rule as Kings of Iran. That we will ever maintain; but not to the overthrow of Cambyses or of Bardya. I am troubled to know how to act in the future. Cambyses surely will not permit Bardya to reign even over part of this empire; and all the provinces of the East have been given to Bardya with the sole condition that he acknowledge the overlordship of Cambyses. If the King of Kings should lead an army hither to overthrow his brother, we must fight him; if Bardya seeks to overthrow his brother, we must prevent him. Alas! the mind of Cyrus must have been affected so that he could not see clearly! I can see before us long years of civil war, wherein Aryan will fight Aryan. Of one thing I am convinced, Bardya should not accompany the body of his father to Pasargadæ. Here, in the faithful city of Bactra, with the army of King Hystaspis at hand, he may be secure. Would it not be better that you also remain here, while I go to stand before the King and demand his consent to our marriage?”

“Shall I not honor my father by attending when he goes to his tomb? I have no fear of Cambyses. Surely he will attempt no harm to me or to my brother when on this sacred mission! Besides, will you not also be present?”

“Yes, I shall be near. Let us hope that the King of Kings will be gracious. My life shall be between you and harm. It would be valueless to me without you!”

“And mine would end without you! Have no fear that Cambyses may give me to another! I, the daughter of Cyrus, will submit to no such disposition! He dares not violate the ancient custom which gives a woman the right to reject one who may be proposed. Not yet do the slavish laws of the Assyrians have force in Iran. Cambyses may rage; he may slay me! Yet will he not have his way with me! Truly if he attempts to oppress Bardya and me, the people of Iran shall be appealed to; and I know they will rise!”

He drew his encircling arm closer and sighed deeply. “Oaths, lives, and crown shall not stand between us!” he said.

CHAPTER V
CAMBYSES

SOME days were given to rest before the Prince of Iran and his guard, escorting the royal dead and accompanied by the royal family, marched out of Bactra on the long journey, over verdant plain and hill, over rugged mountains and sandy wastes, to Pasargadæ. Their route lay westward to Rhages, with the Elburz chain of mountains on the right and the vast deserts of Iran on the left, thence southward by way of Hamadan. A caravan accompanied them, bearing provisions and luxuries for the journey. In spite of the sad errand, it was a pleasant experience for the Prince and his beloved.

Meanwhile Prexaspes, riding at courier speed, rushed on in advance to carry tidings to Cambyses. As he rode, he formulated plans. He knew Cambyses well,—in fact, it had been reported to Cyrus that Prexaspes had abetted his wayward son in his excesses. As much to remove him from his son as to please the Medes, the King had taken the powerful noble with him on his expedition against the Touranians. Prexaspes had not dared demur. Much as he loved ease and luxury, he was personally brave and capable. He had performed his duties and had won the approbation of the just old King. Knowing the weaknesses of Cambyses, his vanity, his selfishness, his gross passions, and his superstitious nature, he now planned how he should gain advantage by them; and in his mind he saw himself raised to the second place in the empire, covered with riches, honors, and power.

He soon arrived at Rhages, an ancient city situated near that famous pass through the Elburz mountain-chain known as the Caspian Gates, and not far from Mount Demavend, around which cluster many legends of ancient Iran. Here the stream of Aryans had halted many years before separating into the three branches, one of which passed northward through the Gates into the Caucasus and thence into Europe, another westward into the mountains of Azerbijan, and another southward to Medea and Persia. But Hamadan, the Ecbatana of the Greeks, situated farther south, had grown greater and had become the capital of Medea. Rhages had ceased to be the capital. It was, however, a great and important city, a base for the army guarding the Caspian provinces beyond the great mountain-chain and a market through which flowed commerce from the sea of the north, the caravans of the east and south and from the herdsmen of the mountains in the west. Mount Demavend, magnificent in its snow-capped grandeur, on whose peak, it was said, God sometimes rested to view His created world, is one of the great mountains of earth.

Prexaspes halted here but a day. He sacrificed a horse at the temple, where the ancient Aryan rites were performed, and he drank soma and was sprinkled with holy water afterwards at a Magian shrine, where he left a gift of money. Having thus satisfied his conscience and invoked good-luck from all sources, he galloped southward towards Hamadan, where he expected to find King Cambyses.

The queen city of the empire, celebrated in song and story, strong in the martial spirit of its people, called Hamadan by the Persians, Agmetha by the Hebrews, Ecbatana by the Greeks, sat upon a rolling plain, close to the foot of Mount Elwend, sometimes called Mount Orontes. In the center was an eminence on which was the citadel and around which were seven walls rising in gradations, each painted a different color from the others. On the top of the eminence was the far-famed royal palace, covering acres of ground. Its glittering metal roof reflected afar the rays of the sun. Its porch columns, its doors and walls, were plated with precious metal. Its deep, cool interior was luxuriously furnished with carved and curiously wrought tables, divans, settees, and chairs, and with costly tapestries from Srinigar and rugs and carpets from the looms of Medea. Its throne room was vast and magnificent. A stone-built treasury vault occupied one corner, where was stored untold wealth, gathered during the years of conquest, when Crœsus and other unlucky kings fell before the conqueror. A park lay at the rear, inclosed within the walls.

To this city from east and south caravans, with their spirited horses, their complaining camels, and their slow-moving elephants, came, and from the west long trains of pack mules and slaves, to exchange commodities and to outfit for new expeditions. Here came armies, returning from chastisement of some rebel or from conquest of some nation, to recruit for further forays. Half a million people, dwelling in wooden, stone, or tent houses, here made their homes and proudly claimed to be rulers of the world by virtue of the palace on the hill and the power of its royal occupant.

It was midsummer. Royalty and nobility, leaving the lowlands and the heat of the capital city, sought cool retreats in the mountains. Mount Elwend, whose peak is capped with eternal snow, thrusts downward vast spurs into the plains eastward and southward; and, between their wooded sides, babbling streams of cool water flow down from the snows. In the vales and canyons of the foothills were many tents and rustic cabins, where the rich and powerful dwelt and enjoyed the cool, sweet air. Pack-trains fetched provisions and supplies from the city. In luxury and dissipation, with sport and game, the elect of earth here passed the time pleasantly. Here Cambyses was residing, all unconscious that he was now King of Kings.

Riding down from the north, with a score of soldiers at his back, Prexaspes saw the dome and towers of the great palace flash in the afternoon sun and knew that his mission was almost accomplished. His heart beat high. He would be the first to greet Cambyses by his new title, King of Kings, the Great King, and it would depend upon the mood of Cambyses whether he would be given honors as the bearer of good tidings, or be disgraced as the bearer of evil. The guard at his back, picked up at Rhages, did not know his errand or that Cyrus was dead. The dark, eagle-like countenance of Prexaspes was impassive and never betrayed his thoughts. Worn by weather and hardened by exposure, he now looked more the soldier than the courier. But he looked forward to many days of ease and pleasure, when he could discard his dusty uniform for clean linen, perfumed vestments, and the elegant Medean cloak.

At a point about two miles north of the city, he met a train of donkeys led by slaves and under guard of half a dozen mounted troopers. They were moving slowly and they insolently neglected to give way to Prexaspes and his followers when the latter came galloping down towards them.

“On the King’s business!” shouted Prexaspes, wrathfully, reining in his foaming steed. “Out of the way, swine! Offscouring of the earth and filthy jackals! must we ride over you?”

“We also are on the King’s business!” retorted the leader of the troopers, a dour, whiskered Mede, bringing his short spear into position. “By the whiskers of Merodach! keep a civil tongue and do not try riding over the train of Cambyses!”

Prexaspes glowered at the speaker a moment. He recognized the sullen face.

“Ha, Merobates, is it you?” he cried. “I might have known the captain of the King’s houseguard! Know you not Prexaspes?”

Anger left the swarthy countenance of Merobates. He grinned as he answered:

“Truly I remember the Lord Prexaspes! But I did not suppose you were within a thousand parasangs! Whence and whither?”

“From the King to the King,” answered Prexaspes, enigmatically. “But where is he,—Cambyses? I bear a message to him and must not delay.”

“Wise it is not to delay on his business, indeed!” rejoined Merobates. “The Prince is now at his summer camp some parasangs over there,” indicating the slopes of Elwend. “I am just returning from the city with the daily provisions for his use.”

“Guide me to him, good Merobates, and great will be your reward!” said Prexaspes. “In the King’s name, I command! Leave your men to bring the train and lead on.”

Merobates hesitated, considering whether it were wiser to stay with his men and thus assure the performance of his daily duty or to obey the order of the noble Prexaspes. But the compelling gaze of the nobleman was upon him, and, having issued several gruff orders to his subordinates, he led the way along a beaten trail into the hills. As they went, Prexaspes sought information.

“How long has the Prince been at his summer house?”

“Seven days only. He has just married a new wife, the daughter of Nebuchadezer, Prince of Nineveh, and he has taken her there, as he says, to be at peace, leaving his other wives at the palace.”

“Has he many people with him?”

“Oh, yes! Thirty notables of Nineveh came as an escort with the new wife. Thirty Medean nobles are with them for company. Besides, King Crœsus is there and also the son of Hillel of Damascus. There be the Babylonian hostages and Gaumata, the chief Magian, and a hundred others from far and near. A thousand cavalry guard the camp. Great games have there been! The Prince has proven himself to be a mighty archer and spear-thrower. He outshoots them all. Well it is for them! For the liquor—you know?”

Merobates waved his hand suggestively towards his mouth as though quaffing from a goblet. Prexaspes nodded assent.

“How is the Prince’s temper?” he asked.

“Excellent! Never better! His new wife pleases him and his servants have learned how to avoid crossing him. But what is this news, which you have galloped from afar to bring?”

“It is for the Prince’s ears first; but know, O Merobates, that great fortune either of good or evil hangs over your head and mine to-day. How does the Prince regard himself now?”

Merobates laughed.

“He has adopted the customs of the lowlander dogs who salaam to the earth before royalty. Cambyses has forgotten that he is mortal and swears that he will do even greater deeds than the Great King, his father. If you would please him, prostrate yourself and bow very low to the earth. Were he God himself, he could not be pleased more with adulation and homage! Praise his deeds—he swells with pride. Fail to praise—you may as well leap from the tower in the city market! Please him—a gold chain and a chief place at feasts is your reward! Displease him,—a bowstring at your throat, or hanging by your heels to a beam, or some other evil! Me has he ever commanded to treat him as ever I have,—with respect and obedience, but not with lying adulation. I tell him his faults. He laughs.”

“I remember, he used to say that Merobates was his conscience and was the only man who dared to cross him or to speak plainly to him.”

“It has always been so. He is violent. He fears not to smite in wrath; but he is subject to persuasion and art. He has no patience with those whom he dislikes and he dislikes all who neglect to praise him. Even the great Belteshazzer, appointed Governor of this province by Cyrus, has not escaped his anger. The Prince has revoked his authority.”

Presently they entered a canyon, in which a clear brook tumbled over rocks. Following this they soon entered a small valley. Great trees bordered the margin of the stream and were scattered over the valley, forming a natural park. In the midst was the Prince’s palace, a low structure built of hewn timbers. A score of lesser houses and many tents stood at the sides of an open field several acres in extent, which lay in front of the palace. On this field the sports and contests of which Cambyses was fond were held.

Prexaspes now perceived a group of men gathered beneath the spreading branches of a great live-oak near the palace. One, who was seated on a thronelike chair higher than the others, was engaged in conversation with another who stood uncovered before him and whose dress indicated that he was a priest. Others standing near appeared to be giving close attention. He who was seated was a large, heavy-limbed man, well-padded with fat and short-necked and gross. His big, round head was covered with a mass of curly black hair and was encircled by a gem-studded coronet. His face was dark, heavy, and flaccid, but his black eyes looked forth shrewdly from beneath overhanging brows. Bushy eyebrows met above his beaklike nose. A heavy black beard cut to a length of about six inches covered the lower part of his face. He was a powerful man physically and was said to be agile and quick in spite of his fat.

Such was Cambyses, elder son of Cyrus. There were marks of dissipation on his face. From early youth he had indulged his passions, until now, at the age of thirty years, he was a slave to them.

The sound of approaching hoofs called the Prince’s attention to Prexaspes and his followers. He paused in his discourse and exclaimed angrily: “Who comes? It must be very important service to cause men to ride thus into my presence!”

Prexaspes halted at twenty paces’ distance, gave the reins of his steed to Merobates, sprang to the earth and drew near, uncovering his head as he advanced. Cambyses then recognized him and uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. Prexaspes, throwing himself on his face at the Prince’s feet, cried: “All hail, King of Kings! May the Great King of all the World live forever!”

For a moment, Cambyses was silent. He knew the meaning of those words. His face paled and he sank back upon his seat. But recovering he said, in a voice quivering with excitement: “Rise up, Prexaspes! What mean you? Why are you here? What of my father?”

“I will speak only if you bid me, mighty King!”

“Speak on!”

“King Cyrus, the Great King, the immortal hero, greater than Jemshid, greater than Kaiomur, is no more alive! But there lives a greater, even Cambyses, King of Kings, King of the Whole Earth; and, to him bring I this message at the command of the noble Hystaspis, King of Iran, thy subject. May I find forgiveness as a bearer of this evil news of the death of thy father, and favor as a bearer of the good news of thy accession to the throne!”

Cambyses was again silent, unable fully to realize his elevation to supreme authority. His eyes turned upon his courtiers, who forthwith fell on their faces before him, and cried out: “All hail, King of Kings! Live forever!”

He drew a deep inspiration. Graciously extending his hand he motioned to Prexaspes to rise and draw near; and, taking from his own neck a heavy gold chain, he placed it around the messenger’s neck, saying:

“I give you my favor, noble Prexaspes! A long and weary journey have you come to bear me this news; and you shall be rewarded. That has come to pass which had to come. Henceforth Cambyses, the Achæmenian, son of Cyrus, heaven-born, reigns and shall reign! I thank you, Prexaspes! You shall have room in my palace here and shall feast this night. On the morrow we will return to our capital and proclaim my accession to the throne. Sit down here on my right hand and tell me of the death of my father. There shall be proclaimed throughout the empire forty days of mourning for my father and, after that, forty days of rejoicing for me.”

“I am indeed weary and travel-stained,” rejoined Prexaspes, looking down upon his dusty clothes. “I have ridden day and night, that I might hasten to you. I pray you command that I may retire and dress as becomes one who stands in the presence of the King.”

“Mind not the clothes! It pleases me to note such eagerness in my service. Ho, there, cup-bearer!” cried the King, turning to a youth who stood waiting near the palace door. “Bring cups and wine!”

Instantly the cup-bearer clapped his hands. Two servants came running from the palace, one bearing a jar of wine, the other a tray of golden goblets. The goblets were quickly filled with ruby wine and the cup-bearer presented them to the King, after duly tasting them. Cambyses took one and handed it to Prexaspes.

“Drink!” he said. “You must be thirsty. But, perhaps, my father has trained you to soberness?”

“While King Cyrus lived I obeyed him. Now that Cambyses is King of Kings, I obey him,” answered Prexaspes, taking the cup.

“Well said!” exclaimed Cambyses, taking a huge goblet. “Come, let us first pour a libation to the earth and its gods.”

He poured a little of the wine out upon the earth and drank the remainder. Prexaspes followed suit. The King laughed as he looked around upon his courtiers and saw that their countenances were expressive of curiosity and mild astonishment. Pouring libations to the gods of earth was sin with the orthodox Aryans and a new practice to the majority of those present. But they expected that Cambyses would disregard custom and law, even more now as King than he did while only a prince.

“Now sit here by me and briefly tell how my father died and all that happened thereafter,” said the King to Prexaspes. “Afterwards you shall rest.”

Prexaspes sat down at the King’s right hand on a low bench. The courtiers and attendants, obeying a motion of the King’s hand, retired beyond hearing.

“I thank you, O King, for this favor!” answered Prexaspes. “My last message was written just before your father encamped with his army on the left bank of the Jaxartes and two days before the last great battle. It had been in the King’s mind to cross the river and pursue the enemy farther when he learned from his scouts and some prisoners that the Touranians were gathering at a point ten parasangs above us with the intention of giving battle. Then the King set his army in battle-array, in a very strong position, with the left wing resting on the river and the right far out in shifting sand-dunes. In front was a deep, narrow water-course beyond which lay an open plain over which the enemy must come. He commanded the Prince of Iran to lead the Imperial Guard to a position behind the sand-dunes, ready to come out upon the enemy’s flank and rear when the battle should be joined.”

The King interrupted, exclaiming: “A young man is Prince Darius to hold so important a command! By my beard! Infants shall not command under me!”

“Your will is law, O King,” rejoined Prexaspes bowing. “But I must say that Prince Darius is a most loyal subject of Cambyses and a very brave and able general. King Cyrus took position at the left of our army and the weight of the enemy’s charge fell upon that part. It was a fearful struggle. My light-armed troopers went out to draw the enemy to charge and, as commanded, fell back before the thousands on thousands of shrieking, howling foemen. They followed us into the great ditch in our front and pressed across. They bore back the Persian and Medean heavy-armed infantry. They broke through and would have ruined the army, had not King Cyrus at the head of five thousand men of the Imperial Guard thrown himself into the breach and held them back by most mighty exertions! Then came the Prince of Iran and the remainder of the Guard down from the right upon the rear of the enemy, crushing and rolling them back into the Jaxartes. His charge saved the day. It was magnificent. The light horses of the Touranians went down like leaves before a gust of wind. But just as the victory declared for us, the King received a poisoned dart in his throat and was borne from the field by the noble Otanes. In spite of all that the surgeons could do, he died that night.”

“What message did he leave?”

“King Hystaspis was in command of the army. He called a council of officers and designated me as a messenger to bring to you the last decree of the Great King. Here it is.”

Prexaspes drew a packet from a pouch at his belt and presented it to the King. Cambyses eagerly unbound it and began to read. A dark frown slowly gathered on his face. He suddenly cast the paper upon the earth and set his foot upon it, while his gleaming eyes showed bitter wrath.

“What!” he exclaimed. “Does he think to divide his empire and confirm that hair-brained, beardless Bardya as ruler of Iran and Persia? I say, it shall not be! I am King of Kings now, and I shall reign alone! I will cut that young sprout off if he dare claim a shadow of sovereignty! My father always hated me and loved Bardya. He always did shield that boy from my wrath. Now he gives him the best part of the kingdom! What if he does acknowledge me as overlord? Is he not ambitious? He will ingratiate himself with the people and then will attempt to overthrow me! King Hystaspis and his son,—they doubtless will aid him!”

He rose and paced back and forth, swinging his arms and smiting his hands together. Prexaspes also rose and, though standing in a humble attitude, covertly watched the King.

“What say you?” demanded Cambyses, halting before Prexaspes.

Prexaspes, after some hesitation, answered: “Doubtless it was not just in the Great King to make such provisions; but he was old and very fond of Prince Bardya. Why allow the decree to be published? There is no need until you are firmly established. Afterwards there will be time to deal with the matter.”

The King silently stroked his whiskers a moment considering the advice. It seemed shrewd and good. His wrath cooled somewhat. A cunning look came upon his flushed countenance.

“That is good advice, Prexaspes!” he assented. “You shall be my chief counselor. This decree shall be burned. None know its contents but you and I. I count on your silence and will greatly reward you. If you deceive me, no death shall be too severe for you!”

“Have no doubt of me, Great King! I am your servant and will do as you bid. There is no decree. I have forgotten it. Let it not be seen of men. But Bardya has a copy of it and the Persian nobles witnessed it.”

He recovered the paper from the earth and restored it to Cambyses. The latter laughed as he tore it in small pieces. Calling a servant to bring a brazier of coals, he placed the fragments upon the embers and watched them burn.

“Hark you, Prexaspes!” he then said. “This Bardya must not be allowed to divide this kingdom. See to it! Great will be your reward. The second place in the kingdom shall be yours. Do you understand?”

Prexaspes considered a moment. He well understood the meaning Cambyses sought to convey.

“I understand,” he then said. “Perhaps misfortune will overtake the young man. Who knows?”

The King laughed harshly. “An accident perhaps! Rather than that the empire be divided, one of us should die. The world is not large enough to hold two kings when Cambyses is one of them! What do you advise?”

Prexaspes thoughtfully contemplated the earth. The King impatiently waited, glowering at him with the restless, cruel eyes of a tiger.

“Speak!” commanded the King at length. “Shall we send a force and take him?”

“If it please you, O King, that I should offer advice, no. Bardya is strong in the love of the Aryan race. He now dwells in the midst of hosts of stout men who are his friends and who would overthrow your throne if they could for his sake. Persian and Medean soldiers cannot be compelled to make war upon Bactrians when led by a son of Cyrus. Babylon, Assyria, Damascus, Sardis, and the Ionian cities will not uphold your hands; they but wait for an opportunity to rebel. You must court the favor of the Aryan race. Above all I advise that you show favor to the King of Iran and to his able son. They are the idols of the veteran army of Cyrus.”

“But Darius is Bardya’s friend!”

“True, but he is also your loyal supporter.”

“How know you? Is it not said openly among the nobles of Persia that Hystaspis by right of birth should have ruled instead of Cyrus? Darius is ambitious. I know that youth! I have hated him since my father showed more favor to him and to Bardya than to me! He knows this. How then say you he will be my supporter?”

“Do you not remember his love of truth and his hatred of lies and deception from his boyhood up?”

“I remember! No doubt it was a disease in him!”

“Just so! Nevertheless it is said throughout Persia and Iran and by every man of the great army, that, when once the word of the Prince of Iran is given, it will stand forever. No one ever requires of him a witness or a written tablet. Now at the request of Cyrus and with consent of his father, he placed his hands in those of the Great King and swore to support you and Bardya on the throne of this empire. Therefore you need not fear him; but, rather, you may depend upon him for aid if you need it.”

The cloud on the King’s face lifted somewhat. He had watched with jealous eye the growing power of the young Hystaspis and had feared him even more than Bardya.

“Nevertheless, wait till his ambition meets opportunity,” he suggested.

“No, it is as I say. I have proof. On the march to Bactra, the Prince with the Imperial Guard was in charge of the transport of the King’s body. The Guard, on the morning of the second day’s march, saluted Darius as King of Kings; and all had taken oath to support him if he would consent. But he rebuked them, told them of his oath to support you, and then and there made them also swear with uplifted hands to support you. I myself witnessed it.”

“Is it so? Treason must be flourishing indeed!” exclaimed Cambyses, bitterly. “This Guard shall no longer be the Imperial Guard! It shall be decimated!”

Rage again possessed the King’s soul. He knew himself to be unpopular save with a few boon companions. His jealous heart was filled with hatred towards the popular Prince. Prexaspes ventured to remonstrate.

“Let not the Great King be offended with his servant! I am acquainted with the army and all its soldiers. The Aryans are a proud race and the nobles will not bow the knee even to their kings, as you know. Do not anger them. Without them your subject nations will revolt and you will have no one to support your empire. Rather, dissemble your feelings. You are very wise, O King, if you but stop to think. First, be well established on your throne. After the body of your heroic father shall have been placed in its tomb, send the Prince and his Guard to conquer new provinces. Be advised by me in this. Should evil befall his son, old Hystaspis would lead the veterans of Cyrus five hundred thousand strong against you. Who could stand before them?”

Cambyses ceased pacing back and forth and sat down, saying: “Your words are wise, Prexaspes. I will be advised. Proceed!”

Prexaspes smiled slightly behind his hand. He had properly gauged the King’s impulses. He continued: “I advise that you issue your formal decree as King of Kings to-morrow and send copies thereof to be proclaimed in every province of the empire; that you issue a decree confirming the Prince of Iran in command of the Guard and in his mission to transport the body of the Great King to Pasargadæ; that you send a messenger to Bardya and to your sisters greeting them kindly; that you, also, as soon as they shall have arrived at Hamadan, show them all honor, go with them to do honor to Cyrus at Pasargadæ, and dissemble your real feelings. Thus will you begin wisely and thus will you please the Aryan people. Afterwards we may take counsel; and, should Bardya meet with an accident or disappear, who can blame the Great King? Be assured, O King, that I advise well! I know that upon you only may I depend for advancement and power. Bardya does not, nor do any of the great Persian nobles, love Prexaspes. Their semi-barbaric manners suited not my taste, and my refined manners were not approved by them!”

“I will heed your advice,” said the King. “My favor shall be with you. First, I will make you Satrap of Medea. I will let that old Hebrew, Belteshazzer, rest from his labors in his tower. Afterwards, if you serve me well, I shall increase your power. See to it, Prexaspes, that my will be not thwarted! There shall be one King, who shall be King of Kings, and he must be Cambyses!”

“It shall be as you wish. But let us proceed with all care.” Thus Prexaspes entered upon a road to great gain in wealth and power, but also to ultimate woe.

The King presently dismissed Prexaspes, and the latter was conducted to pleasant rooms in the palace, where he refreshed himself with a bath, arrayed himself in clean linen and rich garments and had himself barbered and perfumed by the King’s own barbers. Cambyses was lavish with his favorites, and just now Prexaspes was chief of them. The latter sat at the King’s right hand at dinner that evening. All festivities were abandoned in honor of the dead King, but the many courtiers who ate at his tables found opportunity to assure the new King of their joy over his accession to the throne. He drank deeply both of adulation and wine until he became half-drunk and maudlin, whereupon Merobates took him almost forcibly to his bedchamber.

Next day, the King and all his retinue returned to Hamadan. A royal decree was immediately issued, reciting the death of the Great Cyrus and the accession of Cambyses to the throne of the world, and commanding all officers, soldiers, and peoples to acknowledge him King of Kings. The royal treasury was opened. From it the golden crown studded with precious gems, which Cyrus had worn on state occasions, and the royal scepter were brought forth. Clad in purple, and having the high, pointed crown on his head, his royal feet encased in yellow shoes, and his hair and whiskers curled, powdered, and perfumed, Cambyses held his first court in the great audience room of the palace. He sat on a golden throne placed high up on a dais, with fan-bearers waving ostrich plumes over him, with Prexaspes standing at his right hand and Merobates at his left, bearing the King’s sword and shield. He placed the crown on his head with his own hands, while a loud-voiced herald recited his titles. Then the thousand nobles and officers who were in attendance fell on their faces to the floor before him and hailed him King of Kings, the Great King! Cambyses, swelling with pride, deemed himself divine, and as a god he looked down upon his subjects with haughty demeanor.

The world thus acquired a new ruler.

CHAPTER VI
PERSEPOLIS

THE modern world knows little of the beauty and grandeur of ancient Anshan, the home of Cyrus, or of the province of Fars and its cities. Mountains shut off from them the hot winds of the Persian Gulf and of the northern deserts. The high valleys lying between the mountain ranges that extend across it like huge dikes are of surpassing loveliness. Romantic woodlands, dells, lakes, canyons, murmuring brooks, rushing rivers, far vistas, plains, mountains, and hills delight the soul. In the valleys, flowers perfume the air all the year, and vegetation, where irrigation is practiced, is luxuriant. On the high hills and mountain tops winter holds sway during three or more months and the seasons are well-marked as in the temperate zones. It is the land of Omar, of Firdusi, and of many lesser poets; the land of an ancient white race, whose rugged virtues made them lords of much of the earth, but whose descendants have degenerated by admixture with lower grades of humanity and have suffered much to maintain even their own independence.

The celebrated plain of Mervdasht is between two parallel ranges of mountains, one of which lies to the west between it and the low hot lands of the gulf-coast and the other to the east between it and the vale of Murghab, or ancient Anshan. A river comes down from the northern mountains through the midst of this plain and empties into a lake. It is a perennial stream, but fordable save in the winter when the rains fall. It has been variously named, anciently the Araxes, later the Kur or river of Cyrus, and again the Bendamir. Another river of less volume but more celebrated, the Pulwar, comes down to join it through the mountains from northeast table-lands. This passes by the vale of Murghab, where a little stream of that name, coming from the east, flows into it. In this vale was ancient Anshan, the capital of the Achæmenian line of kings, a city also known as Pasargadæ. The tortuous bed of the Pulwar connects the vale of Murghab with the valley of Mervdasht, having cut for itself a deep gorge through the mountains. A royal road, passing through this gorge or canyon, connected the ancient capital with a more modern city, Persepolis.

Persepolis, or the city of the Persians, ancient Parsa, lay close to the mouth of the mighty canyon of the Pulwar, where it opened into the vale of Mervdasht. The city lay principally on the northern banks of the river. On the southern bank was a great park; and in this on a plateau extending from the base of low mountains that border the eastern side of the plain, were the palaces of the Kings of Iran. King Hystaspis and his great son, Darius, and his grandson, Xerxes, each erected magnificent palaces of dark-gray marble on this natural platform. The great size and magnificent architecture of these buildings were among the wonders of the ancient world. Their majestic ruins yet testify to the power, the love of art, and the learning of those masters of men.

King Hystaspis, content to rule Iran as a nominal vassal of Cyrus and under the shadow of his mighty arm, laid out for himself in the valley of Merv a new city and there placed his loved friends and retainers. He brought artisans from Egypt, Canaan, Syria, Phœnicia, and distant Greece, and built for himself a great palace. It is said that he or his son formulated a new alphabet for his language and caused the books of Zoroaster to be translated therein.

Orchards of apple, peach, and apricot, vineyards where grape and berry grew, fields of vegetables and grain, covered the fertile valley and its surrounding hills. On the day when the Imperial Guard, escorting the body of the Great Cyrus, halted on the summit of the western ridge bounding the valley and looked down upon the peaceful scene, autumn was touching all with the signs of harvest and the coming winter-rest. On that day, while the funeral car halted, Prince Bardya, his sisters, and the Prince of Iran rode forward to a bluff jutting out from the ridge; and from this position they looked down into a paradise,—so it seemed to them, weary with dusty roads and desert lands. There, where the Pulwar entered the plain from the narrow gorge in the western mountains, Cyrus had drawn up his Persian patriots to fight a last battle for liberty from the Medean yoke, having been driven to bay by the vast army of stern old Astyages, his grandfather. That decisive battle not only gave liberty to his own province but gave Astyages to him as a prisoner and the crown of Medea for his own head. From that victory Cyrus had gone forth to conquer the world. But now, conquered by the last enemy, Death, he was returning there to his final rest. The heart of the Prince of Iran was stirred by strong emotions, as he looked across the beautiful vale. He could see afar the great portico of his father’s palace where, he knew, his mother stood watching for the coming of her son. Uncovering his head, he extended his hands towards heaven, saying:

“To thee, O Ahura-Mazda, Ruler of Heaven, Giver of Life, Lover of Truth, and Protector, we give thanks! For thou hast brought us home!”

“Amen and amen!” exclaimed Bardya, uncovering his head.

The Prince of Iran then addressed his companions: “I welcome you to the home of King Hystaspis. This valley and yonder city are his property, ceded to him as a home for the Achæmenian family, when he consented to remove hither from Bactra. I bid you rest at our palace yonder this night. The road from Parsa to Anshan is rough and ought to be traveled only by day. My mother is at the door to welcome you.”

“We gladly accept!” assented Bardya, heartily. “Do I not love that mother almost as much as you? Do you remember the happy days when we hunted on yonder hills and swam in the Pulwar and the Araxes? Do you remember the day we were almost drowned? We will go to that deep water-hole again to-morrow and swim there as boys again. Our troopers should rest a day while we send a message to Cambyses at Anshan to inform him of our coming.”

Athura added: “It will be delightful to accept the hospitality of your mother. I shall return after going to Anshan and shall stay long with her and rest. My sister is much in need of rest. The long journey has made her ill.”

“After we shall have accomplished our mission,” said the Prince of Iran, “we shall enjoy many pleasant days there. The hunting is good. We shall enjoy the royal sport!”

“Unless Ahriman interfere!” added Bardya, waving his hand towards Anshan, where his brother now awaited their coming. “I propose to stay a month at least. I suppose he awaits us impatiently at Anshan.”

Athura said reprovingly to her brother: “Speak not of the King of Kings thus! He has sent us courteous messages, even if he would not await us at Hamadan or march with us here. Perhaps it was best that he should go on ahead to prepare the tomb and to arrange for the ceremonies. Be advised, brother! Remember to show him the deference due to his station. His anger was ever terrible! Now he has no one to restrain him.”

Bardya laughed and tossed his head, as he answered: “Fear not for me! I shall treat him with all due respect. Am I not on the ground my father gave me in his will? The Persian lords will not permit him to oppress us. When I see that King of Kings, I will demand of him that he publish the full terms of my father’s will. If he refuse to observe that—Well, it may be that he will cease to reign!”

The Prince of Iran said nothing, but his countenance was somber. He feared that the impetuous Bardya would precipitate trouble. He foresaw civil war.

Descending into the valley, they approached Persepolis. A vast throng of people came out to meet them and stood on either side of the road weeping and wailing aloud as the funeral car passed. A company of guards led by an aged veteran met them at the entrance of the city.

Prince Darius greeted the leader warmly: “Ho, Orobates, our beloved High Chamberlain! How fares my royal mother?”

“All hail, Prince of Iran!” cried the stately old man, kissing the Prince’s cheeks as the latter bent down to greet him. “God’s blessing of long life and happiness be upon you! How good it is to behold you once more! Your mother, our most gracious Queen, is well and awaits you at the palace. She begs that you will prevail upon the royal Bardya and his sisters to honor her house with their presence. All things are prepared. The best of the herds, the finest game from the mountains, the daintiest fruits and flowers,—all are ready!”

“They have consented to honor us, Orobates. Has my mother good health and is she happy?”

“Excellent health, gracious Prince; but she sighs much for you and the King.”

“Did Cambyses, the Great King, honor our house with his presence?”

“He refused our bidding on the plea that he was in haste to reach Anshan on state business. But he sent a gracious greeting to your mother.”

The Prince led the caravan into the city, nodding and waving greeting to many whom he had known when a child. Crossing the Araxes over a magnificent stone bridge, the cortège marched into Persepolis and encamped in a great open field on the shore of the Pulwar. The funeral car was driven into the sacred enclosing wall of a temple and there rested till a messenger went to Cambyses and returned.

Leaving the cares of the encampment to subordinates, the Prince of Iran, accompanied by Gobryas and some of his chief officers, conducted Bardya and his sisters across the Pulwar over a beautiful stone bridge of one great arch and through the park to his father’s palace. The limpid stream, the great oaks, elms, walnuts, and plane trees, whose foliage was tinged with gold and red, the flowering shrubs, the fountains, and the greensward, smiled a joyful welcome to the weary travelers. Broad steps, leading up to the great plateau or bench on which the palace stood, gleamed white through the tree-limbs. Slender gray columns adorned the portico. On the stairs stood a group of women, and among them a stately dame, who waved her hand in welcome. Prince Darius galloped on ahead to the foot of the steps and, leaving his horse in charge of an attendant, ran up into the embrace of his mother.

Age had not greatly affected the beauty of the Queen of Iran nor dimmed her blue eyes. Her gray hair was gathered in a net at the back of her head and was encircled by a golden band set with sparkling gems. Her dress was an ample purple robe reaching to her feet and encircled at the waist with a silken sash. Its loose sleeves revealed arms still shapely and adorned with bracelets of gold. The gracious majesty of her countenance, the sweetness of her smile, and the soft accents of her voice were celebrated in Iran.

That was an age when wife and mother were not slaves or prisoners. Recognized as the equal of men, their virtues and loveliness made homes where men were grown. Not yet had Cambyses, aping the manners and customs of the dwellers in Mesopotamia, Syria, and Arabia, degraded women to the seclusion of harems; nor had custom forbidden women to appear before friends unveiled, though veils were commonly worn in public places. Polygamy was almost unknown in Iran, though its practice had crept into Medea. The wife was queen of the home and ruled in the heart of her husband.

The Prince knelt at his mother’s feet, and her arms encircled his neck while her lips kissed his brow. “Welcome home, beloved son!” she exclaimed. “Long days have intervened since you waved farewell to me from yonder bridge; but no day has passed that I did not think of you!”

She raised him up and stood proudly at his side, leaning on his arm, while she welcomed Prince Bardya and his sisters. To Bardya she said as he bent his knee before her: “The blessing of Ahura-Mazda be upon you, O Prince of the World! Arise! It is not meet that you kneel to me! Welcome to the palace of my lord, the King of Iran!”

“Gracious Queen,” replied Bardya as he arose, “I kneel to you as to my mother! Next to her, who lives only in my memory, do I love and reverence the mother of my friend, the Prince of Iran. Have we not, in years past, stood together at your knee and received your instruction? Now that we are indeed orphans we come to you for consolation.”

Tears filled the great lady’s eyes. She embraced Athura and Artistone tenderly; and, leaving the men to the care of her son, she took the girls with her to her own apartments and personally saw that they were made comfortable. While they are removing the dust of the road and enrobing themselves for dinner, we may wander in spirit through this typical palace of the Achæmenian kings and observe its grandeur.

From the portico which extended the full breadth of the palace front, an entrancing view of valley and mountain, of river and park, could be had. Sixteen slender, fluted, marble pillars supported the massive wooden roof of the portico. Their capitals were winged bulls; their bases were bell-shaped and carved to imitate lotus buds. A high, narrow door gave entrance from the front through the thick stone walls into a hall, on either side of which were rooms where the palace-guards had their abode. The hall led into a reception room fully fifty feet square, whose walls were pierced by a dozen narrow windows and whose ceiling of heavy carved timbers was upheld by slender wooden pillars covered with silver plates. The stone walls were hidden by beaten silver plates and the windows and doors were hung with tapestries of fine crimson and purple fabrics. Wooden shutters were fitted to the windows, but were now open to admit air and light. Later, when winter should come with its rains and frost, the windows would be closed by semi-transparent oiled silk. Red and purple rugs lay on the tiled floor, partially covering the various patterns worked out in colored tiles. A throne, shining with gold plate, occupied a raised platform at the end of the room opposite the entrance. Cushioned chairs, divans, and couches, tables of polished wood, mirrors of polished silver and bronze, lamps of many patterns fastened to the pillars and walls, and a cabinet of dark inlaid wood comprised the furniture. The cabinet held a collection of books, rolls, and tablets, the library and the special treasure of the King of Iran.

Doors at the right of the throne led into the apartments of the men; at the left, into the apartments of the women; and, immediately at the rear, into a small open court, beyond which were the servants’ quarters. Banquets of state were held in the throne room, but ordinarily the tables were laid in the small open court. The various apartments were furnished with couches, and with blankets and rugs of skillful weaving and of that fineness and texture for which the woven products of Iran have ever been famous. All the conveniences of an advanced civilization, which power and wealth could provide or gather from the many nations over which the Persians held sway, were here. Baths and toilets fed by water piped from the hills, and drained into the Pulwar below, ornamental cabinets, containing scents and cosmetics for adorning the person, wardrobes full of costly dresses made of silk and fine linen, mirrors, combs, and brushes—even the modern homes of many so-called civilized people could boast no better.

A narrow stair led up from the inner court to the flat roof, where the occupants of the palace, reclining on soft divans, under canopies or sunshades, could pass the warmer hours of the day, breathe the cool mountain air, and enjoy the lovely scenes. Looking down from it, one could see the royal stables five hundred paces to the south in the park, where scores of graceful horses were kept; and farther on was the inclosure where cattle and sheep, driven in from the mountain pastures, were ready to furnish the royal table with meat or milk. A canal led from the Pulwar above the palace through the park to the stables below and thence into luxuriant gardens where servants toiled to supply their master’s table with vegetables. Fowls, dogs, horses, and cattle enlivened the barnyard scene. Servants in gay tunics, loose, fringed trousers, and with sandaled feet went hither and thither on their duties. Guards in shining armor walked their beats through the park or lazily stood leaning on their spears at the palace steps.

While the guests were removing the dust and stains of travel, servants busily prepared the banquet. Tables of walnut, plated with silver and bound together by golden bands fastened with copper nails, were set in the great audience hall. Platters of beautiful porcelain or of beaten silver, piled high with fruits and bread, were placed on them, and plates of silver and cups of gold were also brought forth. Low seats whereon the guests could either sit or recline were set in order. A major-domo in gorgeous livery saw that all things were made ready. Then the guests were called. The men were seated at one table; the women, at another. Prince Darius sat at the head of the former; his mother at the head of the latter. Servants brought on, in regular courses, fish, steaming loads of venison and fowl, and bountiful supplies of vegetables and pastry. Water, milk, and wine of Helbon were the drinks, the latter being used sparingly. With appetites sharpened by a long day’s journey in the bracing air of the mountains, the guests did full justice to the viands. While they ate, the soft music of harps, played with considerable skill by musicians in the court, floated in through the open doors.

The banquet hour having passed, the officers and nobles returned to the camp, while Prince Bardya and his sisters accompanied Prince Darius and his mother to a room adjacent to the dining-hall, used by the King of Iran when at home as an office. A large fireplace in one corner of the room was filled with a cheerful blaze. Gathered about the fire, guests and hosts felt much at home and spent a pleasant hour in conversation.

“Now that Cambyses passed through your city with scant courtesy,” Bardya said, somewhat warmed by the wine he had imbibed and by his genial surroundings, so that he felt called upon to express his indignation towards his brother, “what think you of such a king?” He addressed Queen Hystaspis.

“I marvel not at his action,” she replied quietly. “He was never kindly disposed towards us. But it is not for us to find fault. I should have met him in person and given the invitation to stop with us. I would have so done, had I not heard that he believes, with the Medes, that women have no place in the affairs of men. He passed through our city in a closed litter, not even deigning to see our messengers. He made reply through his chamberlain that the King of Kings was indisposed and pressed for time and would not rest till he should arrive at his palace in Anshan.”

“He has ever been ill-natured!” continued Bardya, bitterly. “He believes himself heaven-born! He will end by declaring himself a god and appointing set times to worship him! What think you the nobles of Persia will say of his manners? It is said he has determined to decree a law of polygamy, and, like the Arabs, fill a harem with many wives. He is a follower of the Magi; but I doubt if he believes in the gods. I know he will never abide by our father’s will. As I have ridden from Bactra hither, I have thought much; and I have concluded that the kingdom will be his who can strike first!”

The Prince had never before spoken his inmost thoughts. The Prince of Iran and his mother, though much disturbed, remained silent. Athura said reprovingly: “Brother, is it right to have such thoughts before our father’s body is entombed? Wisdom demands silence on your part until you see the King! As King he may act justly. If you stir up trouble, civil war may be the result. Let us be wise and discreet until we return to Bactra, from which you ought never to have departed! Then, if he act unjustly, the people of Iran will stand justly with you.”

“What say you, my brother?” demanded Bardya, turning to the Prince.

The latter answered at once and without hesitation: “The words of your sister are wise. Cambyses is King of Kings by right of birth and by the will of Cyrus. I am bound by an oath to support him in that right. It is not wise to plan against the will of Cyrus, nor is it even wise to discuss the matter. While we are safe here, an unwise word uttered at another place, and overheard, may cause great trouble. As for me, I shall ask of Cambyses, the King, two favors,—first that I may receive the reward that Cyrus, the Great King, promised; second, that I may accompany you to Bactra after my father returns here.”

Athura smiled and blushed, as the Prince mentioned his promised reward and turned his ardent gaze upon her. Bardya arose and paced back and forth.

“Alas! that my father should bind you and the powerful King, your father, with an oath!” he cried. “My way would otherwise be clear! Yes! let us be wise and patient! You shall come with me to Bactra, and together we shall extend the empire even as far as the great river of India and beyond the roof of the world where the slant-eyed Tourans dwell! King Hystaspis shall rule Iran in peace, while you and I lead victorious armies to the ends of the earth! Then we shall see who ought to be overlord of the world!”

The Prince of Iran now sought to change the subject by suggesting that before leaving for Bactra they must hunt a lion in the jungles of Lake Baktigan. Plans for a hunting-trip to that wild region superseded more treasonable subjects. After a while, the guests admitted weariness and retired to rest. But the Prince of Iran threw a cloak about his shoulders and went out to walk in the park now flooded with moonlight. The watchmen respectfully saluted as he passed down the broad steps and went slowly towards the river. How pleasant it seemed after a year of war in desert lands to be at home! He could not retire to rest without standing awhile on the bridge over the Pulwar and looking down at the familiar hurrying waters.

Before he reached the bridge, he was startled by the sound of pursuing footsteps. Turning, he beheld Athura approaching, followed by one of the guards.

“Pardon, Lord Hystaspis!” she exclaimed, as he went back to meet her in wondering haste. “So glorious is the moonlight and so restless am I, that when I saw you come forth, I could not resist an impulse to follow! Let me walk with you.”

“Most happy am I to have you with me, Athura, star of the evening! The light of your eyes surpasses the light of the stars! Your countenance, like the sun, brings warmth to my soul! Glad will that day be, when you shall become my wife; and we shall walk together thereafter forever!”

He dismissed the guard. Then with his strong right arm around the princess and his ample cloak shielding both, they went on together. She laughed happily.

“Indeed, my lord, you have the tongue of a poet!” she said. “What says the great Zoroaster of this land?

“Ahura-Mazda looked upon the desert lands

And with his mighty breath gave life to them;

Where none could dwell before he poured out life,

And Aryans lived and multiplied in peace,

Until their numbers were as desert sands.

Was not his thought inspired by such nights as this?”

“It may have been,” he answered. “But does he not continue:

“Then Angro-mainyus, death’s dark spirit made
That mighty serpent, Winter, with its snow,
To swallow up within its months of cold
The teeming earth, the flowing water-streams,

While storm-clouds cast upon the earth their pestilent shade.”

“You are melancholy, Prince of Iran! Let us not think of Angro-mainyus. Are the days not passing swiftly? When the forty days of mourning shall have passed, shall we not be happy?”

He drew her closely to him. “Most happy, beloved! But I am filled with forebodings of evil. Like some threatening Angro-mainyus, jealously watching the Spirit of Life at his creation and the children of men in their happiness, does the form of the new King of Kings loom up in the sky. I seem to feel even now the malignant hate with which he ever seemed to regard Bardya, and me because I was Bardya’s friend. When I think of the absolute power of life and death vested in him and his opportunity to wreak vengeance upon those he hates, I am troubled. What if he refuse to give you to me? What if he choose to bestow you upon another?”

He felt the small hand now resting in his clench and harden. She looked up into his face as she answered slowly and solemnly:

“As for me, though he inflict death, yet shall he not bend my will! I have chosen you alone of all the world. Your wife I shall be or I shall die. Listen, Prince of Iran! I am moved to say—some spirit prompts my soul to salute you, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. At your side shall I be Queen of the world! Is it not to be so?”

He drew her closer to him and kissed her forehead. “Hush, life of mine!” he replied. “Start no such thoughts in my soul! Am I not oath-bound? If I were not so, should I plunge Iran into bloody civil war that I may wear a crown? Let Ahura-Mazda’s will be done! If Cambyses and Bardya cease to exist, in spite of my loyal support, then shall I deem myself most fortunate to sit on the throne of Cyrus at the side of his daughter. Ah, if only Cambyses had a soul like Athura, what a happy year would this be for the nations!”

Twenty-five centuries have come and gone since they stood on the old stone bridge over the Pulwar and renewed their pledges of undying love and faith. Myriads since then have gazed into each other’s eyes and pledged the same faith, moved by the same love; but the story is ever fresh and the love is ever sacred, sweet, and entrancing. Only traces of the old stone bridge over the Pulwar remain. The tall, slender shafts of marble with which the neighboring palace was adorned are tumbled and broken; and over the ruins of the neighboring city the wild dog wanders and bays at the moon. Perhaps the spirits of those heroic two who stood on the old bridge, listening to the murmur of the waters below, while they murmured to each other, may return there again and again, to live once more in the ecstasy of love. Who knows?

CHAPTER VII
“I AM CYRUS, THE KING, THE ACHÆMENIAN!”

WHERE the Pulwar turns westward from its southerly course to break through the mountains on its way to the Araxes, the little mountain stream Mur joins it from the east. In a vale, at the junction of the rivers and extending far up along the Mur, was the city of Anshan, better known as Pasargadæ, “the Castle of the Persians.” In the midst of the city, Cyrus had erected a great palace of marble, surrounded by a magnificent colonnade, and, near this, a tomb. The base of the tomb was pyramidal and on its truncated top was a small marble building, much like a Grecian temple, which was to receive the royal coffin. On the lintel of the palace-gate and above the door of the tomb was engraved the legend, “I am Cyrus, the King, the Achæmenian!” No other record of his acts did he make. That was all, as if no other Cyrus ever had lived or could live, who would take from him the attention of men.

Another great palace stood on an artificial platform of massive stones at the north side of the valley and a quarter-mile or so from the tomb. This building was ancient even at the time of which we write. It had been for centuries the dwelling of that branch of the Achæmenian family of which Cyrus was the greatest. Below and west of the palaces, at the junction of the streams, were the barracks of the Imperial Guards and their parade-ground. Above and on the south side of the valley lay the city with its narrow streets, its great market-place, its stores and dwellings. Many roads radiated from the city to all parts of the province, some following the beds of the streams and others crossing over ridges and spurs of the mountains, or excavated in the sides of the hills and by bridges passing over deep chasms.

Cambyses, with one of his wives and his servants, upon their arrival at Anshan, took possession of the new palace of Cyrus and remained in seclusion. He gave little thought to the preparations for the funeral, leaving the management to Prexaspes, now his Lord High Chamberlain, and to the nobles and priests in charge of public services and worship. It was perhaps well for him that he did, since Prexaspes was gracious and tactful. He explained to all who were disposed to complain because Cambyses was inaccessible, that his royal master chose to remain in seclusion on account of his great grief. He flattered one and asked advice of another. He impressed the burly nobles of Persia so well that when the day for the funeral arrived, they were inclined to think well of Cambyses.

The time approached when the body of Cyrus should be placed in its tomb. All roads leading to the capital city had been for a week enlivened by people coming from all parts of Iran and even from many foreign provinces, to witness the solemn ceremony and incidentally to gaze upon the new King. On horseback, in carts drawn by oxen or donkeys, on camels or in litters borne on the shoulders of slaves, the nobles and the wealthier came; while the lowly plodded along on foot carrying their food on their backs. The city became a vast camp, and the hills surrounding it were dotted with tents and booths.

Great multitudes of people massed themselves along the road leading down to the Pulwar, on the morning of that day, to await the coming of the funeral cortège approaching from Persepolis. It was noon before the Prince of Iran with a company of the Imperial Guard and the funeral car appeared on the bridge which spanned the Pulwar, and, followed by a vast train, slowly defiled across to the parade-ground. The great car, drawn by eight white horses and followed by chariots in which rode Prince Bardya and his sisters, moved slowly to the center of the parade-ground and there halted. The remainder of the Imperial Guard then crossed and formed in open square around the car. The people massed themselves on every side, leaving only a narrow road open to the city, through which the King would come to greet his sire’s body.

An officer was despatched to the palace to notify the King. A sentinel in the gaudy uniform of a palace-guard met and conducted the messenger into the outer hall of the palace, where he was received by Prexaspes.

“I bear a message from the Prince of Iran to the King of Kings,” he said, bowing low before the Lord High Chamberlain.

“I am Prexaspes, the Lord High Chamberlain,” responded Prexaspes. “Give me the message. I will bear it to him. He is at dinner.”

“I am directed by the royal Prince of Iran to report that the Imperial Guard has arrived with the body of the Great King, Cyrus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We are ready to deliver our charge over to the King’s hands. We await his orders.”

“It is well. Remain here. I will go in to the King.”

Prexaspes disappeared through a door, the heavy curtains over which at a motion of his hand were drawn aside by a page. He proceeded slowly and solemnly to the door of the banquet-room, where a guard in armor stood aside while he knocked. A harsh voice commanded him to enter. He opened the door and went in, falling gracefully on one knee as he saw the King. The latter was reclining at a table, with only his Assyrian wife for company. The woman hastily drew a veil over her face as Prexaspes appeared.

“What now?” demanded the King, frowning. “Am I not to eat in peace? Presume not too far, Lord Prexaspes! Speak!”

Prexaspes rose and, clasping his hands before him in humble attitude, with his eyes directed to the floor lest they might look upon the Queen, answered, “Let not my gracious Lord be offended! A messenger has come from the Prince of Iran announcing his arrival with your lamented father’s body at the parade-ground by the Pulwar. I recall that you directed he should await you there, in order that you might ride forth and do honor to the great dead and thus gain favor with the people who loved him.”

“Please the people! Bah! Pigs and dogs are they!” snorted the King. “Nevertheless your words contain wisdom. I will follow your advice until such time as there can be no choice of kings in this realm. Have my horse ready. Call out my new Imperial Guard. One can never say what that Bardya may attempt or what assassins lurk about. Send my armor to the dressing-room. Begone!”

The King turned away and raised to his lips a huge cup, wherein sparkled the royal wine of Helbon. Prexaspes backed out of the room. He told the messenger to return to the Prince of Iran and command him to await the coming of the King. Arraying himself in brilliant armor, he mounted a horse and marshaled the guards, the nobles, the captive potentates who ate at the Great King’s table, and all the notables of the city, in due order.

The King, clad in flexible golden mail and wearing a plain black cap on his head, after some delay came forth and mounted his horse. The illustrious company then moved solemnly down towards the parade-ground. A score of uniformed officers rode in front with spears held perpendicularly, the hafts resting on their stirrups. After them rode the King, followed by Prexaspes and a company of guards. The nobles and notables followed. The King’s expression was gloomy and abstracted. He looked over the heads of the people, and his glance was high and haughty.

Moved by habit, the people bowed low as he went by and remained thus until he had quite passed. There was no sound. Had Cyrus been passing, roars of worshipful shouts would have greeted him from all sides. Cambyses knew this and in his heart raged because of the silence. His square, heavy body, his bull neck, and his round, bloated face suggested to the people no majesty. A murmur ran through the masses in which were mingled fear and derision.

At one point the crowd pressed too heavily and forced back the guards drawn up at the sides of the way. Cambyses, whose horse shied somewhat at the commotion as the guards endeavored to drive the crowd back, shouted angrily: “Beat the dogs back! Use the points of your spears!” The guards, thus urged, smote lustily with the hafts of their spears, bringing cries of agony and imprecations from the hapless ones who received their blows. The crowd surged back and the King passed on without further comment.

Meanwhile Bardya and his sisters and the Prince of Iran patiently waited the coming of the King. The Prince occupied himself in passing slowly along the massed ranks of the Guard, greeting his veteran comrades with a word of praise or inquiry and granting them leave to return home for a twenty days’ furlough. A guard of twenty officers stood around the funeral car and grooms stood at the heads of the white horses hitched to it. Two other grooms held by the bits the war-horse on which Cyrus had been mounted when stricken by the fatal dart. The noble animal pricked up his sharp ears and looked about with interested, intelligent eyes, not understanding that he was about to be sacrificed to Ahura-Mazda in honor of his master.

Bardya and several Persians of high degree, among whom were three of the seven lords of Persia, Gobryas, Metaphernes, and Aspathines, were standing in a group near the car. Upon them the Prince of Iran cast many uneasy glances. He feared plots and treason. Some paces from them were two litters with drawn curtains, wherein rested the Princesses Athura and Artistone.

A subdued murmur rose from the multitudes as they waited. The veteran troopers commented on all things and all men, some of their remarks being decidedly treasonable.

“By rights,” growled one, whose whiskers covered the larger part of his face and chest, “our Prince here ought to be King of Kings! May Ahriman fly away with oaths! Now this Cambyses is no soldier. As for Bardya, he compares not with our Prince.”

“Right!” admitted his neighbor. “Cyrus lives in the Prince of Iran. The King is a drunken savage. Prince Bardya is a gentle giant of no great wit. It is said the Princess Athura is most like her father. She and our Prince will marry. Cyrus promised it. God send the day when our Prince shall wear the double crown and she shall stand at his side as Queen!”

“Treason, brother!” chided a third. “Hush! Let your jaws cease to wag of royalty.”

Finally the King appeared. He drew near to the funeral car alone. His gloomy, black eyes rested coldly for a moment upon his brother, to whom he bent his head slightly. Bardya returned his salutation with a low, somewhat ironical bow. At that instant the Prince of Iran, who had drawn near, raised his hand as a signal, and instantly a crash of spear-hafts dashed against bucklers, a roar of voices from the Guard and fanfare of trumpets, sounded in royal salute. The old Imperial Guard thus recognized the new King of Kings. Cambyses, at first startled, flushed with pleasure and acknowledged the salute with bow and wave of hand. The great lords of Persia now advanced, one to hold his horse, another to hold his stirrup, and a third to receive the imperial scepter from his hand as he dismounted.

Having safely dismounted, Cambyses turned to his brother and said, “Well, Prince, we meet under altered circumstances! If I recollect rightly, our last meeting was somewhat unpleasant, resulting in guard-house treatment for me on account of you. But on this day we forget old animosities and bury our sire’s body. Afterwards I shall have somewhat to say to you.”

“I have forgotten the incident referred to,” answered Bardya, coldly. “We are here now to honor the dead. Afterwards I shall be pleased to converse with you about the welfare of our empire.”

Cambyses said no more. Uncovering his head, he approached the funeral car and bowed his head towards it, remaining thus a moment as if in prayer. Silence fell upon the people as they watched the King. Then the sound of weeping began. A wave of grief and sympathy swept over the assembled multitude. The King was mourning. The people mourned also.

Having thus greeted the spirit of his sire, Cambyses turned away and went to the litters where his sisters reclined. They came forth and bowed to him in greeting. He kissed their foreheads, saying: “It is a great pleasure to have you near me. You shall have the old palace for your residence,—you and Prince Bardya,—while you remain here. At a more fitting time we shall renew our acquaintance.”

Then he remounted his horse and ordered the final march to begin. Prexaspes with the King’s body-guard led the way back to the city. The funeral car followed. The King rode behind it and, following him, were Prince Bardya, the Prince of Iran, the Princesses, and the great nobles. The lesser notables and the Imperial Guard marched next, followed by the people. Thus with royal pomp, amidst the mourning of his people, Cyrus, the Great King, the Achæmenian, completed his worldly march. A band of white-robed priests slaughtered the noble war-horse and presented his blood and burned portions of his flesh as a sacrifice to Ahura-Mazda, with many prayers. The solemn chants being ended, the golden casket in which the body of the great dead was encased was carried up the steps of the pyramid and deposited in the temple-like vault on its top. The brazen door of the tomb was closed, bolted, and sealed and a guard set over it. The people then dispersed.

The King made a decree by which a special order of military rank was instituted, whose sole duty it was to watch the tomb, that no man should disturb the sacred body of the hero.

So was laid to rest the body of the most knightly king and heroic figure of ancient Iran. The great Darius probably equaled him in generalship and excelled him in statesmanship; but the brilliant career, the gentle and knightly qualities, and the heroic spirit of Cyrus, are without parallel in ancient story. Not until the great Alexander flashed across the western sky did any meteor excel in brightness him whose simple epitaph was, “I am Cyrus, the King, the Achæmenian!”

CHAPTER VIII
A ROYAL COUNCIL AND A ROYAL HUNT

IT was the day after the funeral of Cyrus. Cambyses, the Great King, was in a black humor. The fatigue incident to the funeral services and the reaction from intoxication caused by too much drink, indulged in afterward, had darkened his vision and sharpened his acerbity. When he awoke and sat up on his silk-covered couch, he felt the need of immediate refreshment. He jerked a cord hanging conveniently at hand, and a bell jangled in an adjoining hall. Instantly two servants appeared, slipping in between the heavy folds of a curtain at the doorway, and prostrated themselves before him.

“Rise up, dogs! Bring me soma!” he roared.

Swiftly and noiselessly as fleeting shadows they arose and disappeared. In a moment the King’s cup-bearer appeared with a golden goblet in hand, followed by the servants bearing a vessel of milky, fiery liquid. The cup-bearer bowed low, the servants set down the jar and were about to prostrate themselves again, when Cambyses cried impatiently, “Omit salutations and pour!”

The potent fluid sparkled as it flowed into the goblet from the vessel. Twice was the goblet filled and twice did he drain it. “Begone!” he then commanded. “Send the bath hither!”

Cup-bearer and servants withdrew, walking backward. A moment later the servants came in again, bearing a large tub of water. With their assistance the King proceeded to bathe. Unfortunately for one, he dropped a towel and received a buffet from the King’s fist that caused him to reel.

“Have care!” roared Cambyses. “To the guard-house you go to-day and thence to the kitchen as scullion!”

The man prostrated himself and prayed for pardon. Royalty made no sign and he withdrew. Another came to take his place. After the bath, the King’s hair was combed, curled, and perfumed. The royal barber trimmed his whiskers deftly and carefully waxed them. Then he was arrayed in fine linen and purple. His breakfast was brought into the room, and he sat down to eat. He then sent a page to summon Prexaspes. The latter, elegantly dressed and well groomed as usual, soon appeared and, bending till his hands touched the floor, saluted.

“May the King live forever!”

In obedience to a wave of the King’s hand, the servants disappeared.

“See that none stand near the door! Let the guard move away to the outer room!” commanded the King.

Prexaspes saw that the orders were obeyed. Then, resuming his deferential attitude before his royal master, with bowed head, eyes to the floor, and hands crossed before him, he awaited the royal pleasure. The King, having eaten in silence some minutes, pushed away the remainder of the food.

“Prexaspes,” he said truculently, “I know you! I know you are faithful to me because you hope to win power and not because you love me. So be it! Royal place you cannot have owing to the accident of birth, but royal power you may win if you will. Are you ready to carry out all my wishes or must I seek another?”

He paused. Prexaspes raised his eyes and noted his master’s expression.

“Royal master,” he said quietly, “you read men with the eye of God! It is true I love power and riches and I know that both may be given me by you and none other. I am your slave to command.”

“Well said! I, who am descended from Jemshid and Kaiomurs, from Achæmenius and Cyrus, am able to make you great. Just as there may be one God in heaven, so I am the one God on earth. There is but one family fitted to rule the earth and that is mine. Is it not so?”

“It is so.”

“Since it is so, is not the will of the Great King of the Persians and Medes and of the whole world above the laws of this empire?”

“The King’s word is law.”

“If, then, the Great King command you to do an act, that act, even if it be the taking of life contrary to Persian law, becomes lawful. Is it not so?”

For an instant Prexaspes clasped his fingers together nervously.

“It might be lawful, O King,” he answered slowly. “But though your power is great, there are in this land of Persia great nobles who claim great rights and powers, and who would maintain that Persian law must not be broken even by the Great King. I know the great wisdom and the courage of the King; but if I may be permitted to speak, I would give the advice of one who has studied these matters deeply.”

“I know!” exclaimed the King, impatiently. “I saw the dour faces of the nobles and the hostility of the people. My father unreasonably inflicted punishments upon me and my friends, and knowledge thereof has soured the minds of all toward me. That cursed Bardya, who supplanted me in my father’s love, yet lives! I would sooner trust Darius Hystaspis than those nobles; and he loves me not!”

“It is true the Prince of Iran loves you not. But he is loyal. My only fear is that if Bardya should—should be slain by your order, the nobles would attack even you, and by their vast power among the Persian people they might overthrow you and place the King of Iran on the throne.”

The King arose from the table and paced back and forth, grinding his teeth in wrath. He realized the truth of Prexaspes’ words.

“There can be but one King on earth!” he exclaimed. “That King must be Cambyses. Bardya must die! As for Darius Hystaspis, I would order him to death, did I not believe his father would head a revolt in Iran such as I care not to meet. But I hate him! What then do you advise?”

“As to Bardya, I advise that he be put away secretly, if he must die. Let it be reported that he has returned to Bactra or that the King has given him a secluded residence in Medea, where he chose to retire for meditation. A stout person might—”

“No!” roared the King. “I have said he shall die! But let it be secretly done. Do it yourself and I will make you chief counselor of state forever, second only to myself!”

Prexaspes drew in his breath sharply.

“The King hath spoken!” he answered slowly. “I myself will slay the young man. Let the King’s word stand and not be withdrawn.”

“It shall stand!” the King assured him, taking a seal ring from his finger. “Take this in token of the King’s word.”

Prexaspes bowed low and took the glittering band.

“Now as to this Prince of Iran and his seditious Guard, what of them?” demanded the King.

Prexaspes hesitated a moment before he answered. “The Prince may be dealt with in two ways. Possibly the King may not have heard that he has dared to raise his eyes to Athura, the King’s most beautiful sister; and it is reported that she regards him with great favor. And your father promised her to him. Now it might be that if she be given him in marriage at once, it would bind him more firmly to support your rule, and—”

“Never!” cried the King, smiting his hands together. “Let them marry? Why, that would indeed be showing him favor! That would be placing him on the throne! For I have no children; and if Bardya die, who remains? Athura would be queen, and he would be King. Never! I hate him as bitterly as I do Bardya. I hate Athura, the haughty favorite of my father, ever preaching good deeds and well-doing to me!”

“Then I advise that he be given a command in a distant province. It is rumored that the Lydians are restless and that the tribes on the northern borders thereof are making forays. Send him and the old Guard thither. Mayhap a dart shall find him. At least he will be far from these Persians. His oath will keep him faithful. Let a decree be made praising him for faithful service and elevating him to the honor of a satrapy where war will keep him busy.”

The King laughed, a cruel, mirthless laugh, as he assented. “The advice is good! So be it. Bardya shall disappear to meditate—beyond the stars! Darius and Athura shall love each other, verily, but separated by two hundred parasangs! See to it! Prepare proper decrees. And Prexaspes—it is in my mind to occupy these warlike peoples in a war of conquest, even as did my father. We will prove that we too know how to conquer! There is Egypt still independent and very rich and powerful. We must have tribute to live in state as becomes the ruler of the world. Amasis claims to be equal to Cambyses—he shall bite the dust! After him, the Hellenes shall feel my power beyond the sea. Go, Prexaspes! It shall be yours to estimate the necessary revenues and to prepare the means to feed an army of five hundred thousand men who will march with me to Egypt. But, first, see to it that no brother remains behind to rouse up rebellion!”

“It shall be as you order. The King is very wise. War with Egypt will occupy the minds of the Persian nobles and will enable us to levy taxes on all the nations for the King’s treasury.”

“Be not in too great haste with this war,” continued Cambyses. “There is much to do; and life is very enjoyable in fall at Susa, in winter at Babylon, and in spring at Hamadan.”

Prexaspes bowed low and withdrew.

Later that day, the King sat in state on the throne in the great central hall of the palace and received the nobles of Persia and Medea and the officers of his court. Prexaspes stood at his right hand. Embassies from distant realms, visitors from foreign lands, and deputations from divers cities came to wait upon the Great King before returning to their various places. All petitioners, in accordance with the new etiquette, prostrated themselves before the King and so remained until bidden to arise. But the nobles of Iran, though they bowed low before him with hands on their breasts, did not bend the knee or prostrate themselves. The King greeted them coldly, resolving within himself that he would some day humble them till they also should prostrate themselves at his feet and feel his foot on their necks.

The Prince of Iran, tall, stately, richly but plainly appareled, came also. He was cordial in his greeting of the King, as became a blood-relative, but beneath the folds of his Medean cloak a light chain armor guarded his body from dagger-thrusts, even as his cordial manner concealed the distrust he felt towards Cambyses. To him Prexaspes made low obeisance. The nobles of Persia also bowed low before him with profound respect. The King became very gracious and smiled upon him as he approached. He arose from his throne and gave the Prince his royal hand.

“Cousin Darius,” he said, “it pleases me very greatly to have you here! I have disturbing news from the satrapy of our old friend Crœsus. It is said that discontent and revolt arise there and that bands of Scythians trouble its northern borders. I have been considering deeply what reward would be sufficient for one who brought the body of the Great King, my father, to its tomb. I have determined to appoint you satrap of all our empire beyond the Euphrates. In order that you may be well supported, I have prepared a decree that you may take with you the old Imperial Guard of my father to become the nucleus of the army which shall, under your command, uphold our empire there. I contemplate no less a conquest than that of Egypt at some convenient time; and it shall be your duty to levy additional soldiers among the people of your provinces for that war. When I march by Damascus and Tyre, you shall join me there with a well-disciplined army and you shall have chief command under me.”

The Prince listened in amazement. Except Babylon, the western provinces were the richest and most important of the conquered provinces in the empire. Knowing the King’s ancient hatred towards him, he was at a loss to understand why this great honor was given him. From the keen, beadlike stare of the King’s dark eyes he turned inquiringly to Prexaspes, who averted his face. He was silent a moment, seeking to penetrate the King’s design. It must be that, as King, Cambyses was not following the footsteps of Cambyses, the Prince.

“The Great King’s commands will be obeyed,” he answered presently. “I thank you for the honor so little deserved. But I had somewhat in my heart to ask the King, should I be permitted to speak.”

“Say on!” said the King, the expression of his face denoting apprehension.

“When your sire, the ever victorious Cyrus, was about to die, he gave me his consent and promise that I should marry the Princess Athura if she were willing. This was a special mark of his favor. I now ask of you, Great King, that which he promised and which you, as the head of your father’s family, may grant—the hand of the King’s sister in marriage.”

Cambyses was astonished at the boldness of the Prince. His face instantly flushed with wrath. He was about to exclaim violently, when he observed the gaze of Prexaspes turned upon him warningly and remembered that it was his part to dissemble. He resumed his seat on the throne. Constraining his anger, he said, speaking rapidly and in some confusion:

“This is a matter to which thought must be given. The time is not right. The matters demanding attention in your satrapy are urgent. I wish you to make ready and depart within ten days. I must have a Prince of the Empire in that part of my dominions. Your subjects are a warlike people who need a firm hand. As to my sister, I will talk with her. It would not be meet that the marriage take place before you go or until the days of mourning for her father elapse. The urgency of the case will not admit at this time of any delay, lest those Lydians and Scythians rise in open rebellion. I see no obstacle in the way of such marriage; but later I will consider it. Some months’ active campaigning may be your lot when no thoughts could be given to marriage. Prepare to march without delay and to put down the King’s enemies with a strong hand. If the hand of my sister in marriage be a prize to be sought after by you, faithful service to my interests may be thus rewarded. Here is my decree appointing you to your office. Rest assured that if my sister wills to be your wife, she shall be given by me to no other man.”

Prexaspes drew from his belt a roll of papyrus and presented it to the King, who handed it to the Prince. The latter took it, bowed low, and, turning on his heel, departed without further word. After he had disappeared the King turned to Prexaspes.

“What think you?” he asked. “Does it please him? And what will he do?”

“It pleases him not, but he will obey.”

The Prince of Iran passed out of the King’s presence deeply troubled. Was the King seeking to honor him and beginning to reign in a truly kinglike manner? Or was he seeking to be rid of him and his favorite troops? Mounting a horse at the gate of the palace park, where his faithful groom, Orobates, awaited him, he rode directly to the old palace where Bardya and his sisters were residing. There he dismounted and was quickly ushered into the presence of Princess Athura. He found her sitting upon a divan in the inner court, playing on a harp and softly singing to its accompaniment. Several young women companions had left the room when the servants announced the coming of the Prince.

“Greeting and welcome!” she said smilingly, as the young man bowed low before her. She put aside the harp and arose. “Be seated, illustrious Prince, at my right hand!” He kissed the hands extended to him, and both sat down on the divan.

At once noting the serious expression of his countenance, the Princess asked, “What so serious as to cause frowns and wrinkles?”

“I have stood before the King as I said I would and asked that he consent to our marriage,” he answered. “Instead of consenting, he does me the honor to appoint me governor of Lydia and command me to depart forthwith, saying there is urgent need and that I must take with me the Guard.”

“What? Another war? And must you go?”

“It is the King’s command! It is not an honor that he is giving me. It is his desire to place me among those who know me not! Foolish King! He will find none less likely to rebel than I. It is not in his mind to consent to our marriage. He made no promise. He said he would think of it and speak with you.”

“But he shall consent!” exclaimed Athura, warmly. “If not, then will I go with you and marry you without his consent. He shall never control me or send me where I do not choose to go!”

“My soul rejoices to hear you say this!” said the Prince, drawing her close to him with encircling arm. “But we must have patience. He is King. He is the head of your family. Should we marry without his consent, he might deem it such insult to his majesty as to lead him to immediate violence. I fear that I may some day be compelled to forget my sacred oath to his father. Let us exercise patience, light of mine eyes, hope of my soul!”

Her regal head rested on his strong shoulder. She touched lightly with her fingers the dark locks of hair that graced his brow. Presently, as she remained silent, he continued:

“He may consent that you come to me. What happiness would be mine! But you—it would mean a foreign land, and possibly dwelling in the midst of war.”

“Am I not my father’s daughter? Am I afraid of war? It would be joy to go with you, to see new lands, new peoples, to be a queen where you would be virtually king, to ride a horse in battle! I will wait for you to come or to send for me. No other man, be he King or noble, shall I ever marry. If not you, none other!”

“Nor shall I have any other queen than you, beloved of my soul! Let us not despair. I will speak to the Persian nobles if he does not presently consent. Their influence and my father’s may force his consent. If danger threaten you, fly to my mother. She will protect you even against Cambyses.”

Further converse was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from the outer hallway and the immediate appearance of Prince Bardya at the door. He had evidently just come from a ride, as his clothes and whip indicated. His handsome, flushed countenance indicated rapid riding through the wind. He smiled, as his sister and the Prince arose in embarrassed silence.

“Pardon my intrusion, beloved sister and brother!” he begged. “I have had a wonderful gallop over the hills towards Lake Baktigan, and some rough climbing. Have you seen the other King this day?”

The Prince of Iran briefly related his visit to the King and its result. Bardya nervously slapped the riding whip against his boots and a frown gathered on his brow as he listened.

“His object is plain!” he exclaimed, as the Prince ceased speaking. “He sends you to a distant place that you may not be near me, a very shrewd trick! He will never allow you to marry Athura because he hates you both. But let us defy him! My sister shall go with me. Then you may come, Prince, and marry her! We shall defy him. We shall acknowledge him as overlord, according to my father’s will; but not a foot shall he set on our lands—neither he nor any servants of his!”

The Prince of Iran was disturbed at Bardya’s words. It was evident that the latter intended to declare his independence as soon as possible and that war would ensue. What would be his own duty then? His oath would align him with Cambyses; his heart would drive him to Bardya.

“Great Prince,” he answered, “I know you love me as a friend and so I make bold to speak a warning. Do not utter such thoughts aloud any more. Ears may hear and tongues may carry to the King’s ears. Then he would surely have you arrested and slain. I counsel prudence and extreme watchfulness. Return as soon as possible to Bactra. I long to go with you. But I must obey his decree or be placed in the position of rebelling. I go as ordered. After the war is finished (if I find it necessary to make war), I will demand Athura. If he refuse consent, I will leave his service and enter yours, but never as against him. But I do not think he will dare deny my suit. Am I not an Achæmenian, and is there any of higher birth?”

“I will heed your advice,” replied Bardya. “You were ever wise and far-seeing. I will be silent and watchful. The guards you gave me ride with me always. One sleeps at my bedroom door, and the others guard the palace doors and grounds. But if you march hence in ten days, it behooves me to seek others.”

“I will furnish them from the faithful retainers on my father’s estate. But I advise immediate return to Bactra, even if it must be by flight in the night. I am greatly troubled for your safety.”

Bardya laughed. “You are needlessly alarmed,” he asserted. “But on the morrow I will announce to the King my purpose of returning forthwith.”

At this moment there came a knock at the door and a servant appeared. “A messenger stands at the door,” he announced.

“Admit him!” commanded Bardya.

A man in the King’s livery entered, and bowing almost to the floor before royalty, presented a folded bit of papyrus to Bardya. The latter took it, unfolded it, and read. He then ordered the messenger to retire, and after he had disappeared he read aloud:

“‘Cambyses, the King of Kings, King of the World, to his Brother, Bardya, and to his Sisters, Athura and Artistone, greeting:

“‘Know that I propose to remain here two weeks longer and will then return to Hamadan. It is my will that you make ready to accompany me to that city in order that my court may be graced by your presence and that the people may know that we are of good-will towards you. Later my brother may depart thence to his provinces. Farewell.

“‘Cambyses.’”

“My brother is beginning to rule us very soon!” exclaimed Athura, indignantly.

“He shall not order me!” exclaimed Bardya, fiercely.

“He is King!” warned the Prince of Iran. “Hamadan is many parasangs nearer Bactra than this city. It is also nearer Lydia. I counsel obedience. It will be easier to escape from Hamadan than from Pasargadæ, if escape you must; and a week’s journey will then bring you into your own realm. Besides, it may be, the King is earnestly desirous of showing good-will.”

“Good-will!” rejoined Bardya. “The King speaks of my ‘provinces,’ as if I were a mere satrap! It seems to me that I should be first consulted in such matters. It is in my mind to return to him a message that I choose to remain here for a time and then to return direct to Bactra.”

Bardya strode back and forth across the room wrathfully. He threw the King’s message on the floor and trampled upon it. The Prince of Iran watched him in gloomy silence. Athura went to her brother and placing her hand on his shoulders made him halt and look down into her clear, steady eyes. More than once she had calmed the anger of her impetuous younger brother thus.

“Brother, listen to me!” she said imploringly. “Listen to the Prince of Iran, if not to me! We are older than you, and you have never found us unfaithful to your interests. Cambyses is King of Kings, King of the World, by right of birth and by your father’s last decree. He speaks fairly to you. It is right that we visit him at his court in Hamadan and render him the honor due to him. You are here in his power. You should never have come hither at all. Wisdom dictates that you go to Hamadan, in all brotherly kindness. Then should he show an evil disposition, it will be much easier to escape to Bactra. At all events, brother, be not first to bring on war. Only in a just cause will the Aryans follow you.”

Bardya was impressed. He kissed her forehead. “I will do as you advise,” he replied. “I am crippled by that oath our father exacted of the King of Iran and of our Prince here. Without their aid, it would be wild, foolish, and impossible to begin war. I feel that should I begin the war, even they would oppose me with the armies of Iran. I am no better than a caged tiger.”

The Prince of Iran looked upon his young friend sorrowfully. “My father and I have sworn!” he said. “How can our words return to us? We are bound to support Cambyses as King of Kings. No less are we bound to aid you if oppressed by him. We will not fail you. Should he seek to detain you, we shall demand your release, even at the head of an army. What can you ask more? That we be oath-breakers?”

“No, I ask it not! I will be guided by your advice.”

Having thus decided, the three composed a message from Bardya to the King, notifying him that it would please Bardya to visit Hamadan on his way to Bactra and be his guest for some days. The Prince of Iran then took his departure and went to the camp of the Imperial Guard. After detailing a strong company to guard the palace wherein slept his beloved, he called a council of all his chief captains and read to them the King’s decree directing him and the Guard to march into Western Asia. The captains were delighted. The common soldiers, when they heard the news next day, broke forth in a pandemonium of jubilation. To march into the rich country of rich old Crœsus with their beloved Prince, to gain renown and wealth, though by hard knocks, under such a leader—what more could a stout warrior ask? So they all rejoiced and one and all agreed that King Cambyses was a wise King. But their Prince and Commander was silent and sorrowful.

Cambyses announced, two days later, that it pleased him to accept the invitation of the Prince of Iran to hunt royal game on his estates in the jungles surrounding Lake Baktigan. This lake is a brackish body of water lying in the bottom of a long, narrow valley between low mountains, a day’s journey south of Persepolis. It is shallow in summer and fall, but in spring, after the winter rains, fed by the floods of the Araxes and several mountain torrents, it rises to respectable dimensions, and is then about sixty miles long by five wide. Reeds, grass, shrubs, and stunted trees cover its shores. On the hills near is some heavy timber. Little known to the modern traveler, yet, in the ancient days, it was a resort of royal hunters who dared to seek the lion and the tiger in their lairs. It was a part of the estates of the King of Iran. The Prince, as was the custom, had invited the King of Kings to make free use of all his father’s property. But he was surprised when Cambyses indicated that he would hunt. Prexaspes had advised his royal master to accept because it would please the Persian nobility. Cambyses also desired to show himself a mighty hunter, as had all his ancestry, and this influenced him to dissemble his true feeling towards the Prince and to accept his invitation. Prince Bardya and the great lords of Persia were invited to attend. It fell upon the Prince of Iran as host to provide transportation, victuals, equipage, and beaters; and right royally did he provide.

It was an imposing expedition that marched down the swift Araxes to the jungles of Lake Baktigan. First, on a big horse, rode a magnificently attired master of the hunt, glittering in gold and silver and gorgeous in crimson uniform. Then followed several hundred skilled hunters, wardens of the estate whose duty it was to furnish the table of King Hystaspis with game and to guard his preserves against common robbers and poachers. They were arrayed in distinctive uniform and were mounted on wiry animals used to hill-climbing and hunting. With them was a pack of hounds. Then rode King Cambyses, on a beautiful white stallion, and looking right royal in his close-fitting tunic, his leather riding-breeches, red shoes, and round felt cap in which were stuck several black eagle feathers. A stout armor-bearer rode next with the King’s short sword, a buckler, a stout bow, and a quiver full of arrows. Another servant carried javelins and a heavy spear. At the King’s left and half a horse behind rode Prexaspes similarly arrayed. Behind them rode the Prince of Iran, Prince Bardya, and a hundred or more notables. Many pack-animals and servants followed with the impedimenta.

They camped in a dense forest at the northern end of the lake, where the Araxes poured in its flood of fresh water. Next day the hunt began. The chief huntsman built a low platform in the branches of a live-oak which stood at the crossing of several jungle paths about a mile below the camp. The King and his armor-bearers took station on this, while the nobles and retainers formed in line at some distance to the rear in order to turn the game should it pass him. Cambyses was a great archer. It was his daily custom to practice shooting with the heavy Persian bow. He boasted that no man in Iran could excel him. None ever did excel in his presence, it being convenient to miss and stand lower in the scores than his Royal Highness. It is related that the King was accustomed to shoot apples from the heads or hands of boys, an example possibly followed by William Tell of later fame. The King later attempted this feat with the son of Prexaspes and slew the son.

The huntsmen went to a point several miles down the lake, and, having formed a long line with one end resting on the shore and the other far out on the hills, marched with shouts, horn-blowing, and drum-beating northward and drove the savage denizens of the wilderness towards the King. The latter acquitted himself very well. Deer and antelope fell before his arrows. Jackals, snapping at the shafts which pierced their vitals, tumbled about and died. The King roared with savage laughter as the stricken animals leaped to their death. A wild boar was smitten, but, gnashing his teeth in rage and pain, he turned upon the beaters desperately and gashed one severely with his tusks. Animals which escaped the King ran the gantlet of weapons in the hands of the nobles. The slaughter was great. Two lions were aroused, but they broke through the line of beaters and escaped. That night all feasted on the King’s meat and praised his skill.

On the next day Cambyses decided to hunt on foot, following the hunters with hounds through the jungle paths. His nobles followed to witness his feats of arms. Hunters and beaters formed a long semicircular line with the wings thrust forward, one along the margin of the lake, and the other along a ridge running parallel thereto. The King was at the middle of the line with the chief hunter. The Prince of Iran, Prince Bardya, and several of the nobles followed closely after him.

Several smaller animals soon fell before the King’s archery, but he fretted because no lion or tiger appeared. He ordered the hounds unloosed. They sprang away into the jungle, and almost immediately terrific roars announced the presence of lions. A female and a young lion appeared, dashing towards the hills, the mother turning now and again to leap at the snarling pack baying at her heels. The King loosed an arrow at her, but it fell short. He was about to pursue, when a more thunderous roar close by warned him of the proximity of another royal beast. An instant later, a black-maned male lion appeared in an open space twenty paces distant, lashing his tail and emitting breathy coughs of rage. The animal paused but an instant, crouching low, then leaped towards the King with gigantic bounds. The King drew an arrow to its head and launched it. It smote the lion in the shoulder, but missed a vital point. Cries of terror arose from the attendants, and the armor-bearer of the King sought to interpose his buckler between the beast and his master. But master and man went down in a heap under the impact of the lion’s heavy body. Then the Persian nobles gallantly hastened to the rescue. The Prince of Iran dashed forward with a heavy spear and thrust the sharp blade into the red mouth of the lion as it sprang to meet him. It reared up on hind legs, battling with the heavy spear. Prince Bardya then shot an arrow into the beast’s side with such force that the barb passed through its body. Its heart was transfixed; the great beast gasped, fell over, and died.

Cambyses was not severely injured, but was much chagrined. He had missed a fair shot, been ignobly thrown down, and saved by those he hated. He gave short thanks to his saviors and berated his armor-bearer for not interposing more effectually. He hunted no more after that on foot in the jungle, but he succeeded in slaying two lions from the safety of a platform erected in a tree.

The hunt thus having proved a success, the King returned to Pasargadæ.

CHAPTER IX
THE DEEPER THINGS

THE Prince of Iran, about to depart on the King’s business, knelt before his mother to receive her final blessing. The stately dame allowed no tear to dim her eye and no tremor to weaken her voice during this ceremony.

“Go, my son, with my love and faith in you,” she said. “But remember your royal birth. Should your sire die, you will be head of the royal family in Iran; and by reason of your descent from an elder brother, you will be entitled to overlord even Cambyses. Your father has been content to be second to Cyrus, but I shall yet behold you crowned King of Kings!”

“Not while Bardya and his brother, the Great King, live, mother!” replied the Prince, arising from his knee. “But I shall remember your words.”

She bowed low before him, as to a superior. “Son, I salute you, King that is to be!” she said, smiling.

Troubled in spirit, he kissed her cheek and turned away.

The mother watched her son until he disappeared among the trees of the park. Then, throwing a veil over her head and face, she went to the seclusion of her bedchamber, there to weep the bitter tears of grief she would not let the world see. The Prince hastened to the stone bridge where Bardya and Athura, who had preceded him, were waiting to utter their farewells.

Bardya kissed his friend’s cheeks, embraced him tenderly, then mounted a horse and rode away to the city. Athura and the Prince lingered on the bridge awhile, loath to part. The perfume of flowers filled the air, as the sun kissed away the dewdrops from their petals. The voices of birds and the ripple of water formed an orchestra attuned to the songs of love.

“When I am permitted to return to this paradise, I will build there, by the side of my father’s palace, another twice as large and adorned with greater splendor,” he said, as they were about to separate. “There shall you dwell as becomes the Queen of the Aryans and the ruler of my soul.”

“May your mother’s prophecy come true, beloved!” she replied. “I shall count the days till your return, or until I go to you. Send for me quickly and I will come. That brother of mine, who calls himself King of Kings, shall not prevent me. Listen! Should I send to you, asking aid, will you come, even though in disobedience to his orders?”

“Yes! Did not Cyrus at the same time he exacted my oath also promise you to me? But Cambyses will not dare refuse you or insult me by long refusing his consent to our marriage.”

“His hatred toward us may overrule his reason.”

“Then he shall listen to force! I will send a letter to him as soon as my government is placed in order, demanding that he send you to me. He will then have no excuse.”

“Send quickly then, for I fear trouble!” Tears filled her dark eyes as she spoke.

“Should he trouble you, go to my father!” he said reassuringly. “He will call in the seven great nobles of Persia to your aid. Even Cambyses will fear them.”

What else was said need not be recorded. Love, in these great ones of earth, produced the same sighs, the same halting words, the repetition of promises, assurances, and pledges, the same beaming eyes and fluttering hearts, as it ever has in all who have loved, be they high or low, known or unknown, sung or unsung. They parted, he to join the waiting Imperial Guard, now to be known as the Prince of Iran’s Guard, and she to return to his mother.

Having marched rapidly to Susa, the Prince and his army encamped in a plain near that city. The satrap of Susa was ordered to procure supplies and a caravan for his long westward march. The camp lay on the south bank of the swift Choaspes, in a park set apart for the King’s use. Here were many palms and plane trees. The Prince’s tent was erected beneath the spreading branches of trees on the margin of the river, where in soldierly simplicity he received the visit of the satrap.

On the evening of the second day after his arrival at this camp, the Prince, as was his custom, went out for a walk. The dark peaks of the Zagros range in the east lay bathed in the last soft rays of the sun. Shadows were falling in the glades and upon the river. With bent head and hands clasped behind him, he took little note of his surroundings, until at the end of half an hour he was met by a man, who seemed also absorbed in meditation. This man was tall and graceful. His body was clad in a long cloak, a plain but fine Babylonish garment, and on his head he wore a round, black Persian cap. His feet were shod with sandals. A full, dark beard, streaked with gray, adorned his face. His eagle-like countenance was strong and placid. Large dark eyes glowed with intelligence from beneath his heavy brows.

The Prince whose eyes were bent on the earth, was startled from his reverie by a deep, musical voice:

“Hail, Prince of Iran!”

Involuntarily he grasped the hilt of a dagger in his belt and gazed doubtfully a moment upon the speaker. Then with a glad cry, he hastened forward and bending low, exclaimed: “Hail, Belteshazzer, prophet of God! I did not expect to meet you here! I rejoice exceedingly! I pray your blessing!”

“May the Lord of all the earth bless you, my son!” said Belteshazzer, solemnly, laying his hand upon the Prince’s bowed head. “It is a great pleasure to behold you again after so many months. Tell me how you come here. Is that your army yonder? I have been away several days in the mountains whither I go to study, and I am now returning to the city.”

The Prince stood before the prophet reverently, as one stands before a loved teacher.

“My guard is encamped yonder,” he answered, indicating his camp. “We march upon the Great King’s business to the lands beyond the Euphrates, where, it is said, I shall find the people in rebellion. The King has seen fit to honor me with the government of the western provinces.”

Belteshazzer smiled. Knowing well the political affairs of the empire from his long experience as adviser to the late King and as governor of several provinces, also knowing Cambyses and his dislike for the Prince, he perceived the pretext which the King had used to send the Prince far away from Iran.

“I had not heard of any serious disturbances in those provinces,” he said. “It is true that some wild, turbulent bands infest the outlying mountains on the northeast; but the provinces have been happy under the rule of Cyrus and have not suffered at the hands of Cambyses. Perhaps the Great King deems it wise to scatter the veterans of Cyrus to distant provinces!”

“That may be,” assented the Prince. “But you, Teacher, why here? The governor of Medea should not be in Elam.”

“I am no longer governor of Medea. The Great King has deprived me of that office. I am no longer an adviser to the King. I am going to Babylon to resume my duties in the college of wise men, to spend my time in the study of ancient records and to observe the changing heavens, until such time as the God of heaven and earth shall order otherwise.”

“Come with me!” exclaimed the Prince, impulsively. “I shall profit by your knowledge and experience. You shall have the chief place in my satrapy.”

Belteshazzer shook his head.

“No, it would not be best. The Great King is very jealous. He is scattering the men who surrounded Cyrus and is building up a circle of his own. His command was laid on me to proceed to Babylon, there to reside with the college of priests. But fear not, Prince! We shall come again in due time.”

“Is this a prophecy?” inquired the Prince, his countenance alight with eagerness. “Ah, Belteshazzer! how I have longed to obtain that power you have,—the power to look into the future, to listen to the voice of Shraosha and to tell that which will be! Come with me to my tent and take refreshments. You shall stay with me at least until I march on to my provinces. I will consult God through you. My heart is very heavy. Upon my soul is an oath that galls me; and I fear for my friends and for the Aryan people under this King. After you are refreshed, it may be you will consult the messengers of God and tell me the right course of action.”

Belteshazzer looked upon the young man with sympathy. Gifted beyond all living men with the power to read souls in their nakedness, he saw here a strong, upright spirit of good intent, in whom truth held sway, whose mind was large enough to grapple with and solve the problems of earth, a leader among men; and he loved the youth. He did not answer immediately, but looked into the eyes of the Prince earnestly as if reading his thoughts. The Prince could not drop his gaze. Belteshazzer presently looked away to the west, where the last glow of the sunset still reddened the sky, and he sighed deeply. Then his eyes swept slowly around the horizon, resting an instant on the towers of the distant city and then upon the tents of the army. The river’s low murmur came up from the darkening vale mingled with whisper of leaves moved by the breeze.

“I know, my son,” he said after a moment’s silence, “that you have given an oath which may not be broken. I read the thoughts that recur, tempting you to break it. I read your heart and the love in it for the sister of the King, and the brotherly love you hold towards the brother of the King. I know that in the King’s mind is a fierce hatred towards you and a foul intent to make away with his brother; and that he is even now plotting against him. I know that dark and bloody days are impending; but the God of Spirits has guards around you, and as long as you walk after the good intent in your heart, you will triumph over all dangers and you will come at length to a higher estate. More than this I do not know.”

The Prince bowed his head reverently before the speaker. In the presence of this man he was humble,—this man about whom wondrous stories had been told: of his great wisdom; of his power over the spirits of men; of the prophecies he had uttered; of the handwriting on the wall at the close of Belshazzar’s feast, when the great Cyrus was entering the inner city of Babylon by the river-bed and seizing it while the people feasted; of his immunity from fire and from the wrath of wild beasts, which, it was said, were his friends, no matter how savage; and of his steadfastness in the worship of his God.

“O Prince of God!” he exclaimed as the prophet ceased speaking, “I would give all that I have to hold communion with the unseen powers as you do! I have read the teachings of the great master, Zoroaster, and I have listened to the wise men who have studied all that is to be known; but, when I stand before you and listen to your words, my soul sinks, and I wonder if I worship the true God, or whether there are two gods, yours and mine, or more; or whether Ahura-Mazda is but an idea. I wish that I might sit again at your feet and learn the whole truth!”

Belteshazzer looked upon the young man, with love and admiration expressed in his large, deep eyes. His voice when he again spoke, was full of sympathy and fatherly kindness. “Son, there is not much to learn, save this: that God, the Supreme Ruler of all, is one God; that He manifests His power by His Spirit and by His messengers; that He is known to all peoples, but under different names and different aspects, and that He is the Father of all. Men have forgotten Him and have attributed to Him qualities that He has never possessed. Some have made Him a monster, have carved Him in wood and stone, made idols to represent Him and fallen down before them, forgetting that God is a Spirit, who never looks upon idolatry with allowance—forgetting, because not seeing! But of old, when there was but one family of men on this earth, God was known to all men. His spirits and messengers walked and talked with men, until men by gross and sensual lives made it impossible. The Ancient of Days gave man a life of immortality; breathed His own life into the first man, and he became a living soul; made him free to live as he would, to choose good and evil. Men, from the first days, ages ago, lived happily, until selfishness drove them to quarrels, to murder, and to other sins. Then they separated, families moving hither and thither over the world, forgetting each other; some descending into ignorance and barbarism; others ascending to a higher state of knowledge; all looking upon nature and clothing nature’s God in their own vain imaginings. Some kept the knowledge of God more perfectly than others. The Spirit of God talks with every man, bringing up to his spirit suggestions of better life. From time to time great teachers are sent. So came Moses to us, the sons of Abraham and Heber. So came Zoroaster to the Aryans. And a day will come—I have seen it in a vision!—” here the Prophet’s voice thrilled with awe and his eyes were cast upward to the heavens,—“I saw in a vision one night, years ago, before the great Cyrus overthrew Babylon, One, like the Ancient of Days, sitting on the clouds of heaven; and there came before him One like unto a son of man; and to Him did the Ancient of Days give dominion and glory over all peoples of all the earth and all people should in all their divers languages serve Him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion and His kingdom shall never be destroyed. All the nations of the earth shall serve Him gladly!”

He ceased a moment and stood enraptured, contemplating the heavens and recalling again the glories of his vision. The young man looked upon the seer’s countenance with awe. He endeavored to gather the full meaning of the spoken words. Whether he spoke, he knew not, but his mind did form the question, “When shall this be?”

The question came to Belteshazzer and he answered: “I know not when, but He will come in the fullness of time. He will not reign as kings reign, but only in the souls of men. He will waken men to everlasting life, men who have endeavored to do well. He will waken others to shame of their evil lives and to everlasting contempt. Then all men shall have full knowledge of God. None shall fail to know their Redeemer. He will come when God wills.”

Belteshazzer ceased and again sighed deeply, and for a time gazed at the sunset glow in silence, but his eyes saw not the glories of the sun. With his inward eyes he was looking again at that mighty vision of which he had spoken. The Prince broke the silence.

“You said that a Spirit stands guard over me and that I shall triumph over dangers. How stands such spirit? What is he? Why may I not see him? If I could commune with the unseen presence, perhaps he would guide my steps that I make no error.”

Belteshazzer shook his head and replied: “To some it is given to commune with spirits, but it is only to those whose lives are spiritual. To me it has been given to speak with Gabriel, the messenger of God, and with Michael, the soldier of God and leader of his hosts against the powers of evil. It may be that God will permit you to see. Come, let us sit down! I feel even now the nearness of spiritual influences.”

They sat down side by side on a flat rock at the margin of the river bank. Below them the bank fell away with gentle slope to the stream. The valley was now full of shadows. Trees and shrubs were seen as dark spots on the dull gray of sun-scorched grass. Twilight was rapidly deepening into darkness. Belteshazzer took the Prince’s right hand into his left. Raising his right hand to the heavens, he prayed inaudibly, the movement of his lips alone indicating his action. The Prince sat motionless, with wide eyes and bated breath. Awe entered into his soul and a chill ran over his body, not from fear but as if a cold current of air from the mountains had touched him. Suddenly a light cloud of mist seemed to come up out of the valley and from it emerged the semblance of a stately warrior, whose countenance, seen as in a white light, bore a striking resemblance to the Prince’s father. His stature was above that of ordinary man. He was clad, it seemed, in brilliant chain-mail. A sword hung at his belt, a spear was in his hand, a bow at his back. He stood erect with one foot advanced and one hand outstretched as if in benediction over the Prince’s head. Luminous, translucent, quivering with light, yet very real, was the presence. The Prince involuntarily raised his hand and bowed his head in salutation. Belteshazzer sat still, calmly regarding the vision.

“You may speak to him freely,” he said.

“Who are you that comes so gloriously?” demanded the Prince.

A strong voice seemed to answer: “I am Achæmenius, your ancestor, Prince of Iran. I am permitted by the Supreme Power to march at your side. In you I see the hope of the Aryans, the most worthy son of my family. Be of good cheer! A host encamps about you. Only seek ever after the truth and avoid the lie. Behold! error is creeping into the minds and hearts of the Aryan people. Idolatry and false magic, fostered by the evil ones, gain headway among them. It is for you ever to strive for truth and for the knowledge of God, the one supreme God, known to our race from the ancient times, known to this Belteshazzer and by him worshiped. It is your duty to restore our people to right worship!”

“But what is to come? What course shall I pursue, O glorious Spirit?”

“It is not given me to prophesy. Only the Supreme One may give the spirit of prophecy. But I know that you are chosen to be a leader and that many peoples shall bow down before you as lord. Keep ever your purpose to be true and truthful, to live uprightly and justly, and to banish from among our people idolatry and lying. More am I not permitted to say. Farewell!”

As suddenly as the presence had appeared, it passed away, seeming to dissolve in thin air; and only the two men remained, sitting side by side on the rock, with the dark vale before them, the breeze whispering about them and the brilliant stars above. The young man was the first to speak. He rose and shook himself as one might who rises from a troubled dream.

“Was it a vision, O Prince of God?” he demanded, “or was it a man? Was it a spirit, or did I dream?”

Belteshazzer answered somewhat reproachfully: “My son, this was no dream! You have seen a veritable spirit, one who lived in the flesh and reigned in Iran centuries ago. Under him marched a great army from Bactra to Rhages and thence south into Fars, driving out the ancient peoples and there establishing his kingdom. I have seen this great Spirit before, when Cyrus was King.”

The Prince exclaimed fervently: “Then it is no fable that men who die shall live again! That which I have heard and doubted, now I know!”

“Truly you have spoken! Death is but a change, the taking off of a worn-out garment, this body of earth. It is the release of the soul, that glorious body within, from the trammels of mortality.”

“To be so glorious, it were better to die!”

“Nay, not till your work is done! The life now given you is but a training for the future and should be lived by you in such manner that men will rise up and call you blessed.”

They turned towards the camp, and, walking slowly, continued to converse upon the mysteries of life. They passed the sentinels and soon came to the Prince’s pavilion, where the cooks anxiously awaited their master’s coming to his supper, long since ready. While they supped, they continued the discussion and, long after their meal, they sat together as teacher and pupil, the one pouring forth wisdom from his vast store of knowledge, the other receiving and storing it in his mind.

CHAPTER X
A FAREWELL FEAST

CAMBYSES, the King of Kings, King of the World, made a feast at his palace in Hamadan in honor of his brother Bardya, who, as the order announcing the feast declared, was about to return to his future capital and home in Bactra. All the rulers and notables of Persia and Medea were commanded to be present on a certain day to meet the departing Prince and to say farewell.

Forty days and more had passed since the funeral of Cyrus. The King accompanied by his brother and sisters, had departed with all his retinue from Pasargadæ and returned to Hamadan. Cambyses had no love for the Persian capital, but he did love Hamadan. At the latter city resided his boon companions, and there the moral laws were less observed and the people cared little what their rulers did so long as they themselves were allowed some license.

Bardya had twice demanded of the King audience without result, and finally had written to him a note stating that he would presently return to Bactra with or without his permission. It was then that the King had called Prexaspes to him.

“Prexaspes,” he said, glowering upon him truculently, “I expressed a wish to you concerning that sprig, Bardya, when we talked at Pasargadæ. It seems that my wish is forgotten!”

The King’s countenance was clouded. He held in his hand a tablet on which was written the last message from Bardya. He read this aloud to Prexaspes, then dashed it to the floor with such force that the delicate plate was shattered in bits.

Prexaspes was not alarmed. He had seen such ebullitions of wrath before. “I have not forgotten the King’s words,” he replied smoothly. “His commands shall be obeyed. But the Prince is so closely watched by the men of his body-guard and he so invariably refuses to accept my invitations to visit places where the—the—accident could happen without the people knowing the true cause, that it has been impossible to accomplish it.”

“Nothing should be impossible when the King commands!” bellowed Cambyses. “Look to it sharp! Here is he demanding leave to return to his kingdom. His kingdom, indeed! His presence here is a displeasure to me. Away with you and immediately accomplish this task, or I will give your body to the vultures!”

Prexaspes bowed low in affected terror. “If the King will permit his servant to speak, I have thought of a plan,” he said.

Cambyses glared at him a moment, his bloated countenance flushed with passion and his right hand clutching nervously at the dagger on his thigh. It was an inner room of the great palace and they were alone. Prexaspes watched the madman closely, ready to flee or to engage him in mortal combat should he attack. Beneath his own Medean robe lurked a long, keen dagger which he well knew how to use. But the King was not so angry as he pretended. Seeing that his servant was properly impressed, he said more calmly: “A plan? Well it is that you have a plan! Speak!”

“Permit me to see that no one listens or lurks near,” suggested Prexaspes, backing towards the door. He drew the heavy curtains and looked into the hall. He looked out of the narrow windows into the garden. Satisfied that no one could hear, he went close to the King.

“O King, your gracious leave being given,” he said, “I suggest that you give a great feast in honor of your brother and that you publicly consent that he may return to Bactra. Permit me to arrange for his departure. I will suggest to him that he is in danger and that he flee from this city at night. I will pretend to be his friend. He shall arrive at no other destination than death. There will ride out towards Rhages next day one who looks like him so much that they cannot be distinguished save by friends. In the desert beyond Rhages, this man will disappear, and it will be announced that your brother has been carried away by robbers. His friends must be kept here by your order. Let me have your signet ring, that I may have my orders obeyed.”

“Who is the man that resembles Bardya so much?”

“It is Gaumata, the man whose ears the great Cyrus caused to be cut off because of his insolence.”

“Nay, not for any fault of his, Prexaspes, but because my father hated and despised him. Now I think of him, I do remember a great likeness between them. Proceed! Here is my signet. Only see to it that I be rid of this pestilent fellow!”

The King turned away, dismissing his chamberlain with a gesture. Prexaspes at once left the room and proceeded to his quarters in the palace, where he shut himself in and occupied himself for some time in writing three documents—one, an order from the King commanding Prexaspes to slay Bardya, the King’s brother; one, a message to Bardya permitting him to return to Bactra on a certain day; and, the third, a decree directing a great feast to be held in honor of his departure. Having sealed these with the King’s signet, Prexaspes went to the west wing of the palace, where Bardya and his sisters had their residence and where the King never went. He requested the servants to inform the Prince that he bore a message from the King.

Bardya was moodily pacing back and forth in the park adjacent to the palace when the servant found him. He was going over in his mind the details of a plan he had formed for escape. By the King’s orders he had not been allowed to go and come as freely in the city as he chose. He knew that spies were constantly watching his movements and that any attempt to escape on his part would lead to instant arrest. He directed the servant to bring Prexaspes to him, and presently that worthy appeared and bowed low before him.

“Live forever, O Prince!” said Prexaspes. “If I am permitted to speak, I have a message from the King.”

Bardya looked upon Prexaspes loftily and disdainfully. This carefully dressed, combed and curled courtier of the King pleased him not. This man was the embodiment of the Mede, the luxury-loving, mixed breed of Aryan and Semite, whom the Prince despised.

“Speak!” he said shortly.

“I have here an order of the Great King directing that you may return to your dominions one week from to-day, and a second order that a great feast be made in your honor and that you be sent forth properly escorted by one hundred men under my charge.”

He paused. The Prince’s face lighted with joy and he struck his hands together as he exclaimed: “Truly this is good news, Prexaspes! How about my sisters and companions?”

“It is not ordered that they accompany you.”

The Prince’s face grew dark. “What?” he demanded harshly. “Does this King deny my sisters their right to go where they choose and does he insult me by withholding the company of my friends?”

Prexaspes glanced about uneasily and placed a finger on his lips, shaking his head warningly. He drew nearer to the Prince, saying in a low voice: “Have a care, Prince Bardya! The King waits only for some excuse and for a convenient day, to slay you. I will reveal to you what I know. Swear to keep silent should you escape! Give me the royal word of an Achæmenian that you will not betray me and that when you come to your kingdom you will remember me as a King should. Then will I reveal what is planned to compass your death.”

Bardya hesitated. He searched the dark countenance of Prexaspes, striving to penetrate the mask of earnestness there assumed.

“You have my word. Speak!” he said after some hesitation.

“I am indeed commanded to lead you with the escort of one hundred men toward Rhages, but it is also ordered that you be slain before you reach that city. I am not willing to stain my hands in the royal blood of Iran. Neither am I willing that my head pay the forfeit of failing to have the King’s orders obeyed. Therefore, believe me, I have planned in good faith for your escape. On the night before the day set for your departure, the feast will be held. You must attend the feast. At midnight there will be a great exhibition of magic by the priests of the Magi. The King will be drunk by that time and engrossed with watching the performances. You will then have opportunity to leave the assembly room unnoticed by him and to return to your apartments. I will see that the guards are removed. You will take what jewels you have and leave your apartments to meet me at the western gate of the park, where horses will await us. Wear a rough soldier’s cloak over your armor. It will be easy for us to pass the guards and leave the city, as I shall have the pass-words. I will accompany you beyond the city limits on the northern road. I will put money in your saddle-bags and you may travel as a merchant. As soon as you are beyond the city I will return. Next day, there will ride forth one who much resembles you and who will dress as you dress,—Gaumata, the Magian. He will ride beyond Rhages. He will there disappear, and those who allow him to escape will feel the wrath of the Great King. Meanwhile you may travel unnoticed to Bactra. Is it not a good plan?”

Bardya listened with distrust. He did not answer immediately. He pondered, not the plan, but the man who proposed it. As if reading his thoughts, Prexaspes added: “Why need you distrust me? If I chose to slay you, could I not come with the King’s order, take you to the dungeons, and there have you slain? Why should I make this plan? Surely you do not fear that I am able, single-handed, to overcome you on the northern road,—you, than whom no stronger swordsman rides a Nicæan steed! You will be armed and have a coat of mail. You may take all precautions. I seek only to do you a service.”

His words touched the Prince’s vanity. Of course he feared no single man, he the celebrated strong-arm Prince of the world! The desire for liberty was strong in him and the romance of a night escape appealed to him.

“Prexaspes, I agree,” he said. “It matters little whether you speak truly or falsely. It will be better to try an escape than to remain here; and, should the King overtake me with his guards, I can no more than die. Should I escape by this plan, come to me at Bactra and I will reward you royally. Or better still, times and seasons may change and Kings may change; and if Ahura-Mazda be willing, I may be here again some day able to give great honors and rewards!”

Prexaspes smiled beneath his curly beard. His snake-like eyes flashed. “Let it be settled, then,” he rejoined. “At the midnight hour, return to your apartments, not letting any of your friends know your purpose. Meet me at the western park gate alone, and we will ride forth alone. Leave word with your servants that you are tired and are not to be called until the noon hour on the morrow. Farewell for the present!”

Prexaspes turned away and disappeared through the shrubbery. The Prince paced onward till he came to the western limits of the park and noted the gate of which Prexaspes had spoken. He also saw that a company of soldiers had their tents pitched among the trees beyond the gate and that certain of them as guards paced back and forth along the wall bounding the park. He turned on his heel and returned to the palace. The guards watched him as long as he was in sight and murmured to each other concerning him, their attitude being sympathetic. The Prince was a man of soldierly figure and gracious demeanor. These men would go far to execute the orders of the King of Kings, but they admired the Prince and would not willingly have harmed him.

The Prince walked slowly, his mind revolving the plan suggested for his escape, his head bent and his eyes cast down. He did not see his sister, Athura, coming towards him until he heard her soft voice.

“Brother, why so downcast? Why so thoughtful and preoccupied?”

His countenance lighted with pleasure. There existed between these two a sincere affection. He leaned much upon this sister, whose mind, like that of her great father, was acute and whose judgment was sound.

“How beautiful is my sister!” he said, quoting one of the poets—“Fairer than all the women of earth, more to be beloved than wealth! Her breath is as fragrant as the breath of the rose; her eyes are deeper than the dark vault of heavens at night; her heart is as pure as the white snow on Demavend!”

“Wait till you behold some maiden who will find favor in your sight! Then your sister will be remembered only as your very good friend and your songs of praise will be another’s,” she said. “Did I not see that man, Prexaspes, with you a moment ago?”

“Yes, Princess. I have something to tell you. Let us go yonder to that seat beneath the oak tree. It is apart from all others, so that no one may overhear.”

They went to a rustic seat beneath the spreading branches of a great oak and sat down side by side, and he related all that Prexaspes had said.

“What do you advise?” he asked.

Athura listened closely, her countenance expressing distrust, surprise, and incredulity. She took from the wide belt, that gathered her beautiful robe loosely about her waist, a small roll of papyrus.

“Here is a letter from my Prince which has somewhat to say of this danger you are in,” she said. “I advise that you distrust Prexaspes.”

Bardya looked over her shoulder as she unfolded the paper. “‘Fairest and best of all maidens, Princess of my soul,’” he read aloud laughingly.

Athura quickly turned the first portion of the letter under, saying, “You would joke if death were about to seize you! You shall not read the sweet things he has written. You know not the meaning of them, even if you did believe yourself in love with the daughter of Orobates.”

Bardya in pretended anger placed his hand over her mouth. “Let not that be mentioned!” he exclaimed, with simulated sternness. “I was sixteen and she was very fair. Though she was the daughter of a groom, even yet I sigh for her.”

Having found that part of the letter which she desired to read, Athura said: “Listen to what my Prince says. This was written thirty days ago and was sent to his mother’s house, where he supposed I would be and where I should have been but for a bear of a brother who is King. Listen!

“‘I have been much troubled concerning the words of that great teacher, your father’s former counselor, Belteshazzer, the Hebrew. He is a prophet, acquainted with all wisdom, speaking face to face with the messengers of God. He showed me a vision on the day we halted near Susa. He had been in the wilderness near by and was returning to the city, when I met him on the bank of the Choaspes. He showed me a vision of Achæmenius, the common ancestor of our royal family, yours and mine. A glorious vision! Belteshazzer can read all minds and knows what is in the hearts of men; and he said that the King meditated harm to Prince Bardya. Therefore, I beseech you, my soul, that you advise Bardya to escape as soon as he may and return to Bactra, where he will be safe.

“‘I am now at Damascus, the chief city of Syria, resting before we continue to Sardis. I hear nothing of wars in the realms I go to govern, save the depredations of certain wild tribes on the northeastern border. I look forward to lonely days without you. I may find opportunity to subdue the Ionian cities, which are far too independent and do not properly recognize the majesty of Iran. Till I hear from you I—’”

Athura paused and replaced the letter in her belt, saying, “The rest is for me alone.”

Bardya sat dreamily listening to the rustle of the breeze in the oak leaves and gazing at the dark ridges of Mount Elwend in the west. “I have never thought much of visions, prophecies, or wonder-working performers who deceive the eye by quick movements,” he said after a moment of silence. “Darius says there is a future life; that the soul, leaving this body as one leaves a worn-out cloak, passes into the unseen world and continues to live; that Ahura-Mazda is a God in very truth and that He sends messengers to earth. Darius is wise and learned. If there is a future life and if congenial spirits hover round us, then indeed must those spirits who surround the King be all devils! His savage mind is blinded by love of power and moved to murder by jealousy and fear of me, his brother. I remember Belteshazzer, when he was a great and trusted counselor of Cyrus, our father. I feared him, too; and no man who ever looked into his reproving eye could do otherwise than fear him. I wish I could know the mind of Prexaspes. He seemed sincere. I will go with him and trust to my own arm for protection. But, sweet sister, I fear to leave you here in the power of my brother. Can you not flee with me?”

“Fear not for me, brother. Cambyses will not harm me. He has no excuse. I am not in line for the throne. The right to rule goes to the male descendants of the Achæmenian family. I must not leave Artistone. How can I go now? I should hinder you. Besides, I must wait here for my Prince.”

Bardya did not argue with her further, and she did not oppose his plan of escape further.

The feast day came. There gathered into the great assembly hall of the palace a thousand of the notables of earth to honor the departure of Prince Bardya to his realms. Prexaspes had spared no expense in adorning the palace and in preparing the feast and the entertainments that should accompany it. The many pillars shining with burnished gold plate, which supported the gilded beams of the palace roof, were festooned with garlands of flowers, interwoven with streamers and bunting of many colors. The heavy tapestries of the doors in the assembly room were drawn back with silver chains. Across one end of this room a table was set, from the ends of which extended two longer tables in such manner that the King, when sitting at the center of the first, could see all his guests before him. Those he delighted to honor would sit at his table; others of less consequence would occupy the others. Snowy linen covers were laid. Heavy dishes of gold and silver, jars of beautiful Samos pottery, and vases from Egypt and Greece were put in place on them. Apples, peaches, plums, grapes, pomegranates, figs, and other rare and luscious fruits were heaped on shining platters. Confections, sweet cakes, nuts, salads, and relishes were in profusion. Flowers filled the air with delicious odors. Magnificent couches, on which the feasters might sit or recline as they chose, were placed along the tables. At one side of the room facing the King’s place was a low platform with seats for musicians, who with divers musical instruments would furnish sounds more or less harmonious while the great ones feasted. In adjacent rooms, graceful dancers, supple tricksters, and athletes were waiting to go in before the King and perform. A thousand servants, cooks, tasters, waiters, and attendants made ready the feast.

As the sun disappeared behind the western mountains, a fanfare of trumpets announced that the feast was ready, and thousands of candles were lighted in the great banquet-room. None of those invited had failed to come. The King’s invitation was regarded as a command. In the cloak-room adjacent to the banquet-room, each guest received a purple robe to be worn during the feast and to be carried away by him at its close.

At the appointed moment Prexaspes, as ruler of the feast, appeared, gorgeously dressed and having in his hand a wand. As the guests entered he indicated the seats to be occupied by them, placing them according to their rank. At the King’s table sat Crœsus, late king of Lydia, a prisoner, but an honored guest. There sat also Nebuchadezzer, Prince of Nineveh, and a score of other princes whose dominions were no longer theirs to rule, but who, though prisoners of the King of Kings, sat at his table and showed to the world that they lived on his bounty. When all had been duly placed, they remained standing with faces turned towards the throne at one end of the room and awaited the coming of the King. At the left of the throne was a door covered by heavy purple curtains hanging from ceiling to floor.

Having placed all the guests, Prexaspes touched a cord and the tinkle of a bell announced the coming of royalty. The curtains of the door near the throne were parted and disclosed the King advancing, followed by his brother, his wife, and his two sisters, the women being closely veiled. The King strode heavily forward, his swarthy countenance lowering and his black eyes sweeping over the guests. All the guests bowed low towards him. He sat down heavily at his table. The guests remained standing until Prince Bardya, his sisters, and the King’s wife had taken their places at the King’s table. Then, at a wave of Prexaspes’ wand, the guests sank upon their seats. Immediately, nimble servants with pitchers and goblets appeared from side doors and poured wine for each guest. The King’s cup-bearer stood with a great cup of Helbon wine at the side of his master. The King seized the cup and, after waving it slightly toward his guests, drank from it long and deeply. The guests also drank. The musicians took their places and began playing a weird melody, monotonous and long-drawn-out, with many repetitions and variations. A murmur of conversation arose.

Servants brought on trays of smoking meat, of delicious vegetables and pastries, and for each guest the food to which he was accustomed, prepared to suit his taste. The King ate and drank in silence, not even addressing a word to his wife, who sat at his right hand. Bardya and the royal sisters ate little. Their hearts were full of anxiety over the proposed escape of the Prince. But the King drank much wine. He also called for soma and drank of that liquor deeply. And as he drank, he watched Prexaspes, who ever moved nervously about the room directing the feast. Would the elegant Mede fail? The King began to devise a sufficient punishment to inflict on him should he fail. Dancers were brought in after the feast had well begun and gave an exhibition of sinuous movement, like the curving of a snake’s folds, or the graceful undulations of the sea waves. After the dancers there were performances by jugglers, mountebanks, and tricksters, and athletes displayed their strength and agility in wrestling-bouts. At the close of the feast, Prexaspes stood in the midst and called for silence. Then he said, “O King, by your gracious permission, I will now bring in the Magians who hold communion with the spirits of the departed, who have control of the powers of the gods, and who will divine and prophesy for you, besides doing many other wonderful things.”

The faces of all were turned upon the King; and only on the countenances of the Persian nobles and the faces of Bardya and his sisters was disapproval written.

“Let them come in with their tricks,” said the King, sneeringly. “They may delude us, but they will not convince us. Let them come!”

“Let the lights be partially extinguished!” commanded Prexaspes.

Immediately servants extinguished the candles, except a few at the King’s table, and semi-darkness enveloped them all. Then a band of six Magians entered. Servants brought in a heavy square table and set it in the open space between the dining tables. Others brought in some small tablets and balls, which were placed on the table. The magicians prostrated themselves before the King in salutation and afterwards gathered around the square table in silence and joined hands. They were clad in black robes, which covered their bodies in loose folds from their necks down. Their hands were visible below the wide sleeves of the robes, and their pallid faces shone dead white in the semi-gloom below the dark turbans wound loosely around their heads.

As soon as the lights were extinguished, the King turned his back upon Bardya as if weary of his presence. Then a hand touched Bardya on the shoulder, and, turning, he saw Prexaspes who beckoned with a nod and disappeared into the gloom of a side chamber. Bardya waited a moment until the attention of all was concentrated upon the group of magicians; then, after pressing Athura’s hand lightly, he rose and quietly followed Prexaspes. The King seemed not to notice his movements, but was really watching.

Five minutes later, the Prince, wrapped in a soldier’s cloak, stole out through the park, met Prexaspes there alone, mounted a horse held by him in readiness, passed through the park, and rode away with him through the city towards the northern road. When clear of the city environs, they spurred away at a gallop side by side towards the city of Rhages lying at the foot of distant Mount Demavend.

Meanwhile, in the King’s presence, many wonderful things were happening. After several minutes of silence on the part of the Magians, the heavy table around which they stood rose to the ceiling without apparent supporting hands and there remained several minutes. Balls of light floated about the room near the ceiling. A tree sprang up out of the floor and visibly grew till its top touched the suspended table. Then the table slowly circled about the room, returned, and settled down to the floor. The tree disappeared as it settled. Upon the table, immediately, a mass of writhing snakes appeared, hissing and shooting forth angry red tongues, so that the guests were about to rise and flee in terror. They disappeared. The voice of the chief magician said in sepulchral tones:

“None of these mighty wonders will bring harm to any of you, unless you make a noise and attempt to flee. Remain quietly in your places and behold the wonders of the gods! Know that the spirits of the mountains and of the valleys and of the plains are here, the rulers of earth, whom we serve. Know that there is no other religion worthy of practice than ours. Let the Great King behold and act accordingly!”

The voice ceased and a hush fell over the assembly. The King moved uneasily in his seat, and answered in loud, sarcastic tones: “Tricksters have existed in all nations and in all ages! Your spirits are lying spirits conjured up in your own minds to frighten superstitious men. Bah! There are gods and gods! Show me a spirit!”

“It is well!” answered the magician. “We obey the King of Kings. Only say nothing and move not!”

A deep hush fell upon the assembly. The group of magicians drew together again and formed a circle about the table, placing their joined hands upon it and bowing their heads. Only the chief stood as if in a trance, looking upward. Then, above the heads of the group a pallid, misty light suddenly appeared, growing in density and assuming shape, until it became the shape of a man, wavering, translucent, with a sneering, evil countenance and sinister eyes, such as are ever ascribed to evil spirits. The King drew in his breath sharply and bent forward startled and alarmed. A voice seemed to come from the spirit:

“What would you ask, O King of the Earth?”

For a moment the King could not reply. He was agitated beyond measure. He summoned all his bravado, and with a great effort stammered, “Who and what are you?”

A derisive smile curled the features of the apparition, as the voice replied: “I am your soul’s companion, the spirit that goes with you wherever you go! I am your evil genius! I am—you!”

Rage filled the heart of the King.

“This trick shall not benefit you, O Magians!” he shouted. “Prove to me that this is no delusion or death shall be your portion!”

“Demand of me any proof, O King!” responded the voice.

“Make your own proof!” retorted the King.

Again the derisive smile curled the devilish features of the apparition, while a shivering silence possessed the wondering guests, who looked from it to the King and from the King to it, astonished at the resemblance between them.

“At midnight, O King, last night,” said the apparition in a sepulchral tone, “I walked with you on the portico at the door of your bedroom and your thoughts were of your father and of your brother. Did you hear the whispering in the plane-tree? The thought then in your mind has been accomplished; and there comes hither the spirit of him that troubled you!”

The apparition seemed to turn about and look in fear to the north; then, suddenly, it faded away. A groan arose from the chief Magian. He stirred uneasily and turned his pallid face towards the north. His hands were clenched and he stared into space with terror-stricken gaze. Deathlike hush pervaded the great hall. Then slowly and waveringly there appeared in the place where the former apparition had stood a ghastly face; and it was the image of Bardya, the King’s brother. With fierce eyes it glared down upon the King; and it seemed that blood poured down over the forehead in a trickling stream from a deep cleft in the crown of its head.

A shriek of terrified anguish arose from the Princesses. A chorus of exclamations broke from the guests. The apparition suddenly disappeared. The King sat as if stunned for a moment, looking fixedly at the point where the apparition had been, while his face was contorted with fear and horror. The Magians silently dissolved their circle and quickly disappeared. The lights flared up as servants ran hither and thither relighting the candles. The King arose unsteadily. The guests arose and stood in their places while he wearily moved, or rather tottered, to the door by which he had entered, and disappeared. The sisters, supporting each other and weeping, left the room. The guests then broke into noisy comment and wonder and proceeded to fortify their shaken nerves with wine. Orthodox Persians muttered curses on all Magians. The unorthodox shook their heads and superstitiously resolved to make sacrifices on the morrow to the spirits of the hills and to the gods of the Magians. Arguments arose for and against Magism; but the advocates of that cult had the better of it, since as all had seen, it was capable of ocular demonstration. But the orthodox said it was the religion of devils; as for them, they would continue to worship the Good Spirit! Besides, the latter said, it was evident a fraud had been perpetrated, because Bardya, the King’s brother, had been at the feast well and alive. How could this apparition have been his ghost? In this argument they had the best of it. But they marveled at the King’s agitation.

CHAPTER XI
THE GREAT KING INTRODUCES A STRANGE CUSTOM

THE Great King was much shaken by the strange apparitions which the Magi had conjured up; but he assured himself that the whole performance had been trickery and he fiercely planned vengeance upon the performers. He had always boasted of his disbelief in gods and spirits, though puzzled sometimes at the magic of the fire-worshipers. This time, however, his gross nature had received a severe shock and while he awaited the return of Prexaspes that he might learn how his brother had been dealt with, he drank deep potations of soma and half-wished that his brother were indeed alive so that the horrid vision might be proven false. He paced back and forth impatiently in his apartments, while his servants stood without, breathlessly watching for every command lest in his present mood delay on their part would entail upon them grave consequences.

A horseman galloped through the silent city from the north shortly before daylight and, with a hasty word to a sleepy guard, passed through the walls into the park and thence to the stables at the rear of the palace. Leaving his horse in the care of servants, he entered the palace. It was Prexaspes. After a few minutes in his own apartments, he emerged clad in his elegant court dress and went to the King’s apartments, where he knew the King waited. A servant announced his presence and he was at once admitted to the King’s presence. He entered, closed the door behind him, and stood before the King with bowed head.

“Well?” demanded the King, hoarsely.

“The King’s orders have been obeyed.”

“How?”

“A sword-stroke from behind as we rode northward. The body has been safely disposed. Let the King be at peace. Bardya is no more!”

“Swear to me by all that you deem holy! Did the sword cut penetrate the brow?”

“It did. I swear by all the gods of the hills and valleys, by Ahriman and by the spirits of my fathers!”

The King shuddered. Mingled relief and fear shone in his countenance.

“I have had strange proof of the truth of your words, Prexaspes,” he said. “Surely you are in league with devils! I knew you belonged to the Magian sect, but I did not know their power. How did they know the manner of Bardya’s death? How could they show it?”

Prexaspes smiled. He had learned what had transpired before the King.

“Without their aid it would have been impossible to have accomplished the destruction of the Prince,” he answered. “It would be well if the Great King should show favor to the Magi. They can help him much. With the assistance of the diviners and those who have familiar spirits, who can speak with the spirits of the dead and with the gods of the hills, the King will be able to detect those who might plot against his life. Nothing can be done but what they may find it out if they desire. They help and protect their friends.”

“But they worship the Lie, which from all ages has been proscribed by the laws of Iran,” said the King, doubtfully. “I know they have power to perform wonders; but I deem them tricks. What care I? If their tricks aid me, they shall be rewarded.”

“It is right for the Great King thus to speak for the ears of the people!” returned Prexaspes, insinuatingly. “But if the Great King does practice all the good precepts of Ahura-Mazda, what avails it or how does it benefit him? I dare to speak plainly, so that you may receive the aid of the powerful Magi whose followers are more numerous than all others in Medea, Assyria, and Babylonia. The deed done at your command this night has been accomplished by their aid. The men of orthodox faith, the worshipers of Ahura-Mazda, hate you. Only by allying yourself with the Magi can you hope to retain your throne. With their aid you may defy your enemies if they should learn of Bardya’s end. Ally yourself with the Magi and their gods and they will gratify all your wishes. Know, O King, that these men have wonderful powers, even greater than the priests of Egypt or of Babylon who know some of their arts.”

Cambyses was shaken. In him there was some good. Unconsciously his physical passions had been overcoming the good; but, occasionally, there broke through the density of his grosser nature an inward voice urging him to a better life. But he had no doubt of his absolute right to do as he might will, and he had come to believe that ordinary rules of right and wrong did not apply to him. Prexaspes, seeing the King’s hesitation, continued:

“Let not my words arouse resentment, O King! I seek but to do you good. My own welfare depends upon your will. I can call to your aid the Magi and the unseen powers. In their circle I stand next to Patatheites, the High Priest. Have I not obeyed your will and removed from your path the greatest danger to your rule? Trust me still further and you shall continue to have true service. Give to the Magi the chief right to exercise religious power throughout the world, and their vast power will keep you safely. Make now an alliance with them and it shall be well with you.”

The King paced back and forth across the room, debating the matter. Hating all religions, because he wished to disbelieve them, his long-standing prejudices were not easily moved.

“If I do not make this compact, then what?” he asked presently.

“If you are abandoned by them, how shall you receive any aid?” rejoined Prexaspes. “Certainly you can expect nothing of the followers of Zoroaster! They have the power and the will to do you hurt. But, through me, the Magi offer you their powerful aid. Believe me, O King, it will be your only wise course to accept their support.”

Cambyses nervously stroked his beard. He was not a coward. No one had ever accused him of a lack of courage. He despised the orthodox faith because of its moral laws, and he hated its followers. But he recognized the strength of the argument advanced by Prexaspes. The Magian sect was a powerful one. Medea, Assyria, Babylon, Syria, and Phrygia were full of them. They claimed to be in league and communion with the gods of the earth, and indeed practiced the occult arts, known more or less to all peoples, and in modern days followed by some so-called spiritualists. All of them were not evil. Many of them were reputed to be the prophets and seers and warned the people against the evil men who made use of their arts for their own advancement. Stringent laws had been made and enforced throughout Iran against that branch which attacked the doctrines of Zoroaster. But this cult had flourished especially in the mountains of Medea. Fire-worshipers fed their sacred flames on every hilltop. The evil and depraved gathered to them and harassed those who opposed them. They were known to the orthodox as worshipers of the “Lie,” to distinguish them from those who worshiped the “Truth,” as embodied in Ahura-Mazda. Cambyses had sometimes consulted the Magians and required oracles of them. His father had severely reprimanded him for such practices and had caused the ears of Gaumata, one of the leaders of the Magi at Hamadan, to be cut off as a warning to him and to his sect that Cambyses should not be influenced by them.

Cambyses reviewed these matters as he paced nervously back and forth, while Prexaspes awaited his decision with bowed head and downcast eyes. He decided to comply.

“So be it! Only let everything be done in a politic way!” he exclaimed harshly. “I will make a league with the Magi. They shall have freedom to worship as long as I rule. They must nevertheless obey me. I will be King alone and will not permit interference. But the laws against them shall be annulled and I will favor them with offices.”

“It is well!” said Prexaspes, bending low and touching the floor with his hands. “Now, if the Great King will permit, I will withdraw and will carry out our plan to deceive the populace into the belief that Bardya still lives in the flesh.”

The King nodded and turned away. Prexaspes, with a smirk of triumph on his face, left the room. Passing out into the hall, he was about to go to his room, when a servant approached and, after a low salutation, said, “Noble Prexaspes, my royal mistress, the Princess Athura, commands that you come to her waiting-room. She would speak with you.”

Prexaspes hesitated a moment. Then, drawing his breath sharply, as if bracing himself to a severe task, and assuming a cheerful demeanor, he followed the servant. Athura and her sister had not retired to their beds after the banquet. The departure of Bardya, followed by the fearful scene produced by the Magi, had rendered them sleepless. They had ordered their servants to watch for and report the return of Prexaspes to them. Prexaspes entered the room where they awaited him and bowed very low before them, touching the floor with his hands. Then he stood in respectful attitude with downcast eyes, awaiting their pleasure. The eyes of the maidens were red with weeping.

“Speak, false traitor! Was it you that struck Bardya and slew him?” exclaimed Athura, approaching him with clenched hands and blazing eyes.

Prexaspes raised his brows in well-simulated surprise.

“You wrong me greatly, most noble Princess! What mean you? No one has slain Bardya,” he answered.

“But I saw his spirit! He appeared at the close of the feast, and his head was cleft in twain as with a sword-stroke!”

Prexaspes smiled reassuringly, and drawing nearer to the Princess he whispered: “Believe it not, O most royal! That was but a delusion to convince the Great King that his will had been done. How could a spirit appear with cleft head? Spirits have no bodies that may be seen. But Patatheites was able to influence all there so that they believed they saw the spirit of Bardya, while the great Prince was riding swift as the wind to Rhages. Dry your tears! Bardya is beyond the reach of the King now, and in due time you will hear that he has arrived in his dominions. You saw no spirit. It was but a picture from the mind of the Magian chief.”

So sincere were his words and manner that Athura was reassured. She never had been superstitious or believed that the Magi were other than tricksters. The sternness left her countenance. She smiled graciously and extended her hand, which Prexaspes on bended knee respectfully kissed while his brilliant eyes glowed with admiration. Never, he thought at that moment, had he seen so beautiful a face or so perfect a form, never such a gracious and winning smile. For a moment his heart, used to the ways of the world, satiated with the pleasures of life, leaped within him; and he felt that to deserve that gracious smile he would have undone all that he had done and given up all that he had won. The music of her voice and the sweetness of her smile dwelt with him many a day thereafter, bringing to him the only regret and shame that he had ever known since childhood.

“Noble Prexaspes,” she said, “I recall my harsh words! But that was a horrible thing the great magician showed us; and it was well thought of to deceive the King! Surely my brother and I will reward you in days to come when all danger shall have been removed. As you have this night served Bardya, I promise on the word of an Achæmenian, which has never been broken, you will have a fitting and suitable reward. Farewell!”

Bowing many times, Prexaspes backed from the room and passed hastily to his own quarters. The sisters, relieved of their apprehension, retired to rest.

Next day there was much excitement in the city of Hamadan. A great crowd gathered along the northern road to shout a farewell to Bardya, the beloved. Their greetings to him who impersonated Bardya, when he appeared riding in the midst of a group of nobles, bowing right and left, were hearty and prolonged. Prexaspes rode at his side, smiling cynically beneath his beard and glancing occasionally up at the great palace on the hill where the King stood at a window gazing down upon the demonstration. The false Bardya passed out of the city; and so perfect was his resemblance to the departed in feature and dress that none suspected the imposture. At Rhages, a new escort was provided; but at a point a day’s journey beyond Rhages it was attacked by a band of men, supposed to be robbers, and scattered. Bardya, whether true or false, there disappeared and the Great King sent a punitive expedition into the mountains to lay waste the robbers’ homes. Certain innocent mountaineers suffered the Great King’s vengeance, but the King’s brother could not be found.

Thus did Cambyses make himself sure of his throne, and for many months thereafter he gave himself up to riotous living, seeking in strong drink forgetfulness of his crime. Meanwhile he prepared for war against Egypt. He levied heavy taxes and called for troops from every province. His pride grew. He deemed himself divine. The Magi encouraged him in this faith and brought messages from the gods of the hills to him as the god of earth.

Cambyses had one great sorrow. He was childless. He took many women as wives. His seraglio was filled with the most beautiful of the earth. But no child gladdened his heart. As the months passed, his mind became darker and more imbued with hatred of good and the love of evil. The Magi served him well. As his spies they listened among the common people and invaded the palaces of the great. He knew that the people feared him and did not love him. His vanity was easily wounded. Some who spoke offensively of him to putative friends suddenly disappeared and were never heard of more. Throughout the vast regions governed by him, his spies watched for plots and conspiracies. Incipient rebellions were ferociously repressed and those who plotted were tortured to death as examples to others.

Reviewing these things in his mind one day, while walking on the balcony of the palace, the King looked down upon the park surrounding the palace and noticed a group of women sitting on benches beneath a tree, and saw that among them were his two sisters. Their gay chatter and laughter came up to his ears. He watched them a moment in scowling silence, and was about to resume his walk, when, as he turned, he was startled at seeing before him the tall form of Patatheites, chief priest of the Magians. The King uttered an oath, and placed his hand on the haft of his dagger.

“How come you here?” he growled. “I like not this sudden appearing! I turn here or there and I behold you and know not how you come or go! Speak, slave!”

The large, dark eyes of the Magian looked calmly into the fierce, sparkling orbs of the King; and before his direct gaze the latter quailed. Possessed of wonderful hypnotic power, Patatheites easily ruled those with whom he came in contact. He dared even to exercise his power upon the King.

“Let not the King’s anger strike me!” he said soothingly. “I am his most obedient and willing slave. I have a message from the gods, who have seen fit to whisper it to me for you.”

“What is it?” demanded the King, cringing somewhat and experiencing a chill along his spinal column.

“Your expedition against Egypt will be successful, say the gods of the hills. Concerning that which you had in your mind as to an heir for your throne, I have a message also.”

Cambyses looked upon the man with growing awe. To no one had he ever expressed the thoughts concerning his lack of an heir. How could this priest know that he had just been considering that subject?

“How knew you my thoughts?” he demanded. “What is this message?”

“How do the gods know?” returned the Magian. “This message is, that one of your race shall fill your throne after you, but it will be a son of your sister.”

“What?” almost shouted the King. “Her son? and who shall be his father?”

“That I know not. But I do know that it lies in your power to say who shall be husband to your sisters. Look about over the world and choose one equal to yourself.”

Cambyses was silent a moment and his thought ran to one only who might claim to be of equal birth, the Prince of Iran. Jealous wrath arose and almost choked his utterance.

“There is none,” he stuttered, “unless it might be that accursed Hystaspis!”

The Magian nodded meaningly.

“Even now,” said he, “she has in her bosom a letter from him which she is instructed to deliver to you, demanding that you give her leave to go to him and marry him. She will present this request. What then?”

“She shall not go to him! Instead I will send him a bowstring in the hands of our trusty servants.”

Patatheites shook his head.

“No, it would mean your overthrow. The Persians and Bactrians are restless because you have seen fit to give freedom to the Magi; and they only await a leader to rise against you. They yet look for Bardya to return and raise the standard of rebellion. They think you have him imprisoned. If he could return they would that instant join him. If harm befall the Prince of Iran, remember that his old lion of a father reigns at Bactra, and that he has three hundred thousand of Cyrus’s veterans under his immediate command. The son is the apple of the old man’s eye, the center of his soul; and, in spite of his oath to Cyrus, which pledged him to your support, he would tear even you from your throne should you harm the Prince. You have nothing to fear from that young man. His oath binds him to you. He is such a stickler for faith and truth that he will not break it, even though you should refuse him the hand of your sister. But there is a plan whereby you may move in accordance with the advice of the gods, yet inflict on that Prince most grievous suffering if you will.”

“What is this plan? I would go far to harass him. What mean you?”

“The King has two sisters, both fair to look upon. There is none in all the world to equal them in birth save the King. Why not do as the ancient Egyptian kings used to do—marry these two sisters yourself?”

Cambyses stared at his interlocutor with open mouth. Such an idea had never entered his brain. It was contrary to Aryan law that one should marry any one closer than a cousin in blood relationship. He swore a great oath of astonishment. He looked down at his sisters, the one in all the glory of well-developed womanhood, the other just emerging from childhood to womanhood, both beautiful and of royal carriage.

“Which of these sisters shall mother a king?” he demanded of the Magian, presently.

“It was not said. But why should the King choose? Is not the King of Kings above the laws of the Medes and Persians and may he not do as he will? Is not the King’s word and his decree law? If the King decree that he marry both his sisters, is it not law? Bah! The customs of the Aryans must give way to your divine will. I have spoken. Let the King act on my advice!”

The King was silent. He contemplated his sisters. He turned again to the Magian, but the latter had disappeared. He looked about. He had not heard him go. This uncanny habit of Patatheites in appearing and disappearing at will made the King shiver. This new idea of taking his sisters in marriage, however, was a novel one and worthy of thought. He slowly descended by steps from the balcony to the earth and walked towards the group of women. As soon as the latter noticed his approach, there was a hasty movement among the women, some of whom departed. The sisters of the King arose as he approached, and stood in respectful attitude.

“Hail, sisters!” he said, attempting to speak graciously. “I trust you are enjoying this pleasant weather. Winter approaches and we shall soon go down to Susa.”

They bowed in reply. He looked them over critically. Yes, they were very beautiful. The younger he did not dislike so much as the elder. He had hated the elder with the same jealous hatred that he had felt towards his brother; but the younger had been a child and had not incurred his displeasure, nor had she ever said bitter words to him. He was surprised when Athura sank to her knee, saying, “I have a petition, O King!”

He frowned down upon her, suspecting what she was about to ask.

“Speak!” he said.

“O brother, the Prince of Iran has begged me to remind you that our father, Cyrus, promised me to him in marriage. He requests that you now send me to him as his wife.”

A smile of disdain curved the heavy lips of the King. This was the first time his proud sister had ever bent her knee or presented a petition to him. He gloated a moment over her in silence, seeking words that might assure her once for all of the hopelessness of her request.

“Impossible!” he ejaculated. “I come to you with a message from the gods. His request cannot be granted now or ever. There is no one fit to mate with one of our family. Therefore it remains that we, you and I, you two and I—that we intermarry, so that the throne of our fathers may continue to be filled with the race of Cyrus!”

Artistone gasped in astonishment. Athura rose to her feet, shocked and amazed. Her eyes searched the evil, leering face of her brother, to ascertain whether he were crazed or drunk.

“Are you demented?” she gasped. “Marry your sisters? Never since Aryans lived has it been permitted! Death will be preferable! Are you in earnest? Or is it a horrible joke?”

“Never have I been more in earnest, my beautiful sister!” answered Cambyses, mockingly. “Am I not King? Is not my decree above all law and custom? I tell you that presently I will issue my decree making it lawful for the King of the World to marry even his sister! I shall marry you, Athura! I will bend your proud spirit to my will. You, Artistone, shall be my wife. You shall be my chief wife, my queen. If either of you refuse, a bowstring will be your portion. My other wives shall be subject to you, except as I command. I have spoken. It shall be so!”

He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the palace, while his sisters stood as if rooted to the earth staring at his receding form. He turned after going a dozen paces.

“Write no more messages to that Darius,” he said to Athura. “I shall send a bowstring to him if you do so. The world is not large enough to contain him and me at the same time. I have spoken!”

He continued to the palace, while his sisters, dumb with amazement and hot with anger, watched his receding form in silence.

CHAPTER XII
THE FORCE OF AN OATH

THE Prince of Iran paced slowly back and forth on the roof of his palace in the citadel of Sardis, in company with his friend Gobryas. From it, grand views of famous seas and lands could be had. At one side, the rugged crests of Mount Tmolus stretched away in verdant splendor; at the other, and far below, lay the beautiful plain of Hermus through which flowed the river Pactolus on its bed of golden sand. Just below, lay the great city of Sardis, capital of his province, rich and splendid in its Grecian beauty and Persian strength. Far away to the west lay the blue waters of the great sea, with its hundred isles where Grecian genius had made fairylands of nature’s own gracious handiwork. Overhead, the softly tinted azure was a well of golden sunshine. The air was smooth as water to the face and like nectar to the lungs. But the eyes of the Prince gazed not on these splendors. They were moody and introspective.

“Brother of mine,” he was saying, “is not this a land of infinite pleasure? No wonder these Hellenes cling to it! No wonder they talk in poems and work out poems in stone. One could live here very happily, provided other conditions were assured.”

Gobryas smiled.

“By ‘other conditions,’” he suggested, “you mean that if a certain Princess who excels all others in the world in beauty were here, you would be content.”

The Prince nodded a smiling assent.

“Truly you are deep in your reasoning!” he replied. “Now, while these hills and valleys, this sea and this plain, may be beautiful, it is not such a paradise for me as would be the rugged hills of Persia or the hot sands of Iran, were I permitted to dwell there with that same Princess. I have often wondered whether, if I were a simple farmer or a sheep-herder and permitted to have her with me, I would not be far happier than as a ruler of this great province without her. Power is sweet to a man. The right to rule, to speak a word and give life or death, to sit as a judge righting wrongs and endeavoring to make the people prosperous and happy, accords with my disposition. But truly, Gobryas, I would give all these in exchange for a shepherd’s life with her, the incomparable queen, the sweetest spirit and most intelligent mind ever given to inhabit a perfect body. Ah, God grant that when my letter reached the King through her, his heart was inclined to justice and to redeem his father’s pledge to me! But I fear it was not. Else why this delay? No letter has come from her for weeks, nor has the King sent me word of his decision. I have been planning how I would march with ten thousand men to meet her, even at Damascus.”

“May Ahura-Mazda favor you!” said Gobryas, heartily. “It may be the King will demand delay on account of his approaching war with Egypt. It may be that, instead of a gracious assent to marry, an order will come for you to lead your fifty thousand veterans to meet his army at Tyre. Is not your army well appointed in all its equipment, able to march even to Hamadan to meet this Princess—perhaps to rescue her? It may become necessary. The oath that you and your father took to Cyrus has bound you to serve an insane master, who may refuse your just petition.”

“A letter from my father is overdue also,” said the Prince, ignoring the suggestion of his friend. “How I would like to see my royal father! Truly he knows the secret of youth. His years sit lightly upon his shoulders.”

“That is because he has observed the ancient customs of his people—to live temperately, uprightly, and energetically.”

“You have said only a part of it. Much is due to his calmness. He never allows passion or prejudice to upset his equanimity. He smiles at all terrors, hardships, or dangers. He accepts that which comes as a duty. His calm is infinite!”

Their attention was now given to a horseman who was toiling slowly up the steep side of the mountain to the citadel. He was dust-covered, and his horse was wet with sweat.

“A messenger!” exclaimed the Prince. “Now perhaps we shall hear the decrees of fate! Ah, Gobryas, you have never known what it is to have the love of such a woman, and be so in danger of losing her! God grant that you may some day know the sweetness of love!”

Gobryas laughed. He twirled the ends of his long mustache and smoothed down the folds of his cloak. “While I have never been as deeply in love as you,” he responded, “yet I know somewhat of it. Has not your Princess a sister? Perhaps she has smiled on me.”

“What! Artistone? She is a sweet child! Has she looked upon you with favor?”

“I have thought so,” admitted Gobryas. “I may be mistaken. She condescended to talk with me sometimes when we were journeying from Bactra with the body of her father. Her smiles and her eyes have led me to believe that she regards me with approval. When I return from the Egyptian campaign, I shall demand leave of the King to speak to her of marriage, if you consent. My family is ancient. I am one of the seven nobles of Persia from whose daughters the kings have often chosen their brides.”

“I will leave no influence untried in your favor,” said the Prince, warmly. “That will be a happy event, if we who have mingled our blood as brothers, should marry sisters! How slow that messenger is! His horse seems to have come far.”

The messenger soon arrived at the citadel wall. Presently he appeared before the Prince, accompanied by a servant who carried his dispatch-bag. The Prince recognized him as one of his father’s messengers, a man who had followed the King of Iran on many campaigns.

“Hail, royal Prince!” exclaimed the messenger, bending his knee. “I bring you greetings from your royal father and letters from him and from Cambyses, the King of Kings, who was kind enough to entrust me with a packet for you.”

“I am glad to see you, son of Darya,” said the Prince. “Go and rest while I read the letters. My servants will see that you have food and drink. You shall have new clothing and a bag of gold. After you have been refreshed, come hither again, as I would question you.”

The servant took the messenger away and gave him of the best. The Prince hastily broke the seals of the dispatch-bag and poured out its contents upon a table. He examined the several packets hastily and was disappointed at not finding any letter from Athura.

“This is evil luck!” he exclaimed. “Surely she could have sent me a letter by the hand of this messenger! Here is an official dispatch bearing the King’s seal. Here is one from the noble Otanes. Ah, here is one from my father! We will read it first.”

He broke the seal and unwrapped the vellum which covered the inner roll of papyrus. Unrolling this, he read aloud:

“Beloved Son:

“It gave me very great pleasure to receive your letter and to hear that you are well and at peace in your provinces. A letter from your mother has also arrived this day. She is well and speaks of her great loneliness in that both you and I are absent. I have determined to send for her that she may be with me here, since it now seems that I shall have to remain here several months. I have just received a letter from the King of Kings, by the hand of the Grand Chamberlain, Prexaspes, advising me that the Prince Bardya has departed for Bactra from Hamadan. But the Prince has not yet arrived. This letter also calls for a levy of one hundred thousand men for the proposed war in Egypt. What Prince Bardya will say to this request, I fear will not please the King. Reports have come which cause me much uneasiness. It is said the King of Kings is consulting the sorcerers and consorting with those who worship the Lie. His delay for months to permit Bardya to come hither has caused much uneasiness.

“This realm is peaceful now, although the Sogdians are turbulent and the Getæ are ever plotting raids upon their neighbors. The fear of my veterans is upon them, however, and the mountain chiefs are making daily professions of fealty and devotion. But I think it is fear rather than love which causes them to be at peace and to turn traders instead of looters.

“But I will write no more, except to say that the son of Darya will make due inquiries and observations of affairs at Hamadan so that he may report fully to you concerning them.”

The Prince re-read that portion of the letter referring to Bardya.

“I look for trouble as soon as Bardya arrives in Bactra,” said he. “It is well that my father has remained there. He will restrain the Prince. Now I will read the King’s letter.”

He took up the largest packet, broke the seal, and untied the cord around it. The vellum wrappings having been removed, two clay tablets, written closely in the cuneiform script of official decrees, were revealed. He read aloud:

“I, Cambyses the Achæmenian, son of Cyrus, King of Kings, King of all the Earth, Ruler of All Nations, the Great King, have decreed:

“First: That it is lawful for the King of Kings to take to wife any woman whether it be his sister or another.

“Second: That the Princesses Athura and Artistone shall be his wives.”

The Prince stopped reading. He was speechless with amazement. He trembled and seemed about to fall; but Gobryas seized his arm and supported him.

“Am I dreaming? Read it, brother, and say if what I read is there!” he exclaimed, handing the tablets to Gobryas.

The latter seized the tablets and looked at them.

“There is no mistake!” he said. “So runs the writing! But God forbid that such act of a maniac could be accomplished! Will he dare do this thing and the Persian nobles not tear him from the throne?”

The Prince, with a mighty effort, recovered his strength and drew up his tall form to its full height, as he might if facing death. He looked as in a dream at the distant mountains, at the sparkling sea and the deep blue of the heavens filled with the soft golden light of the afternoon sun. His words, when he spoke, were low and tense:

“This I know, that the Princess Athura will not become his wife! She may be at this moment dead or in prison! She would never submit to such infamy! This is a deadly insult to me, the son of the King of Iran, the son of kings better in the right to rule than he; and it shall not be borne! I will march to Hamadan! I will throw down that cursed beast from the throne! By the living God, I recall my oath to Cyrus! I am not bound because he has broken faith. He may have slain her. He shall die! Come, Gobryas! Not a moment is to be lost. Gather together my officers. Call into the ranks every man. We will march before the sun goes down!”

He smote his palms together. His chest heaved with mighty emotions. The world seemed rocking to its dissolution and he about to fall with it.

Gobryas placed one arm around his friend and compelled him to walk slowly back and forth. He feared for a moment that the Prince’s reason was tottering. Never had he seen him so moved. He sought for words to comfort him.

“Beloved Prince,” he said, “listen to me! Athura is not one who will tamely submit to such wrong. She has not submitted. She has escaped or she has slain herself. But let us hear further from the messenger. Let us read these other letters. Then let us take counsel so that we may not fail. We who have not taken an oath to Cyrus will pull Cambyses down from his throne and slay him like a dog! Have good courage, brother! Let me depart this night for Persia. There I will gather the lords of Persia and with an army march up to your aid when you cross the Tigris. Athura and Artistone may have perished, but vengeance remains. Let us make Bardya King. Forbid it not! I will depart this night. Three months from now a hundred thousand Persians will be camped around the royal palace at Hamadan.”

The Prince sat down on a bench beneath the awning and buried his face in his hands. He was silent for some moments, while Gobryas nervously paced back and forth. After a while, the Prince again arose, pallid but calm. He said, speaking argumentatively: “He is King. My loyalty is to the King, though my hatred is towards the man. Must we not put aside personal wrongs, Gobryas, and trust that God will avenge us? No Achæmenian has ever broken an oath, but has kept it in spirit as well as in letter. It is hard to serve such a King, but let us consider well before we start civil war. If what he has decreed has been accomplished, then am I absolved from my oath. But I must wait until I know what has occurred. We will send a dispatch to my father, seeking his counsel. Shall I plunge the world into war because of my personal wrong?”

“I had not considered that,” answered Gobryas. “I am not oath-bound. I dreamed of Artistone; and lo, this cursed maniac has spoiled my dream! But I shall be guided by you.”

The Prince went to the table on which the other letters lay, and took up the one sealed with the seal of Otanes. He read it aloud:

“To the royal Prince of Iran, son of Hystaspis, the King, greeting:

“I have intrusted this letter to your servant, knowing his fidelity, and have instructed him to deliver it to you alone and not to let it pass from his hands to any other while he lives. Know that the King has broken all the ancient laws and customs of Persia; and we, as one of the seven families of Persia, are calling to the other six for counsel. We have sent letters to your beloved father, begging him to consent to reign.

“This Cambyses has proven that he is no longer sane. He is possessed of devils. His debaucheries have weakened his mind, while sharpening his appetite for doing evil. He has advanced the Magi to the choicest places in the realm. He has failed to remember that the seven noble families of Persia are entitled to the chief places under him, as in the time of Cyrus. He is a worshiper of the Lie and not of the Truth. He has forgotten the religion of the Aryans and has fallen into the hands of the fire-worshiping Magi, devil-worshipers of the hills. He has slain without cause many who have displeased him, even Persians of high rank. He has disregarded all laws and customs. The last and most infamous thing is this marriage with his two sisters which he purposes to accomplish. He has declared that he as King is above all laws and customs, that Aryan laws are not binding on him. Knowing by common report that you and the royal Princess Athura are promised to each other, all Persia is in a ferment of discontent over the gross insult shown you in thus taking your promised wife by force to his own vile harem.

“Prince Bardya left Hamadan ten months ago for Bactra. But it is reported that robbers set upon and captured him just after he left Rhages. He has disappeared. I think the robbers were the men of Cambyses and that Bardya has been slain.

“Send us, therefore, but one word, telling us that you march hither with your army; and we will meet you at Susa with two hundred thousand men, to throw down this beast from his throne. In you alone do the Persian people hope. Your father’s age and inclination may not permit him to accept the great burden of ruling this empire, in case Bardya cannot be found; and we shall call you to the throne. Send us orders.”

The Prince was greatly moved. Gobryas watched him curiously. Would not this letter overcome his scruples? The Prince sat down heavily by the table and supported his head on his hands. After a moment of silence, he said:

“Call the son of Darya.”

Gobryas pulled a silken cord, and immediately a servant appeared.

“Bring the messenger here,” he commanded.

The son of Darya appeared quickly. He bowed low before the Prince, who pointed to a bench, indicating that he might sit. But he remained standing.

“Son of Darya,” said the Prince, “you have come far and served faithfully. How is the old man, my father? Has he changed much? Is his body bending with age and toil?”

The man’s dark eyes glowed with affection as he answered: “No, royal Master. Your father stoops not, nor does his face show care. It is not wrinkled save when he smiles on his sons, as he calls the soldiers. Bactra is happy, because the people dwell in safety and have justice dealt out to them. Your royal father remains youthful and is ready to march on smooth or rough roads at any moment. There is no man in all Iran like unto him.”

“You saw and heard much as you came hither. You stopped at Hamadan and you gathered news there for me. Is it not so?”

“I was commanded to see and hear and to report all to you.”

“It is well. From what you saw and heard, know you anything concerning the marriage of the King to his sisters?”

“It was all the talk in the rest-houses and in the streets of Hamadan when I came to that city. I was not permitted to see the royal Princesses, as the marriage feast had occurred but two weeks prior to my arrival. But I caught a glimpse of the royal lady, Artistone, at a window in the palace. I thought it was she. It was said that the King has ten other wives and keeps them in one part of his palace separate from all others, like the Assyrians. There had been much murmuring among the Persians and some rioting between them and the Magi. I saw the noble Otanes, who was very wroth and who has since left the city, going southward to his castle in Persia. He bade me say to you that you should make quick answer and that he hopes to hear that your army will march at once to Damascus.”

“Did you hear whether the Princesses consented?”

“They both refused to consent to the marriage; but the King decreed the marriage instead of observing the Persian custom of marrying. It was reported that he gave them their choice of marriage or death, and that Princess Athura chose death. It was also reported that one of the Princesses had escaped from the palace and had disappeared. I know that squads of cavalry were searching the country all around the city. It was said to be Athura who fled. I have also a verbal message from Prexaspes, who bade me say to you these words, ‘The bird has escaped the fowler’s net.’”

“What else said he?” demanded the Prince, greatly agitated.

“Nothing. But he gave me a purse of gold.”

“Have you heard whether Athura was found?”

“No. The palace servants are quaking with terror and dare not talk. It is said that the King slew three of them with his own hands on the day when the Princess fled. She had not been discovered, I think, when I left.”

“What heard you of the Prince Bardya?”

“Nothing, except that he had departed from the city some months before I arrived, going towards Rhages. At Rhages, it was said that the Prince had passed through and had then been set upon by robbers and taken into the mountains. It is a great mystery. Some say that he is dead, slain by the Magi, or that the Magi have him imprisoned in their mountain strongholds.”

“What rumors of the war with Egypt did you hear?”

“The King is gathering a great army from all parts of his empire. It is said he will gather it at Arbela in the spring and march thence by way of Damascus and Tyre.”

“You heard nothing more of the Princesses?”

“Nothing. I spoke with the guards of the palace. But they are black-faced villains from Azerbijan, under the control of the Magi; and they would tell me nothing.”

“You may go now,” said the Prince. “You have done well. Go and rest. I will call you again. Make ready to return in three days.”

The man departed.

“What mean the words of Prexaspes, think you?” asked the Prince, turning to Gobryas. “Does he refer to Bardya or to Athura?”

“I should say, to Athura. Prexaspes loved not Bardya, but he admired you. Undoubtedly he referred to Athura. Perhaps the packet containing the King’s decrees contained a letter from him.”

Gobryas took the wrappers up from the floor where they had fallen and found a closely written sheet of vellum.

“It is a letter from Prexaspes,” he said.

“To the Prince of Iran, greeting:

“Cambyses, King of Kings, the King of All the Earth, the Great King, commands that you gather fifty thousand soldiers and, leaving only force sufficient to garrison the chief cities under command of Metaphernes, that you march to Tyre, there to await the gathering of the other armies of the King. He has determined to punish the King of Egypt for injuries and insults heretofore sustained. You are ordered to hire all the Phœnician ships and as many of the Hellenes as you can. Let them also gather at Tyre. Also to engage all the Cretan slingers and Greek hoplites from Ionia and the islands. Pay them liberally from the King’s money. Bring with you the treasures of your provinces and gather provisions at Tyre to subsist five hundred thousand men for a year’s campaign in Egypt. Be ready to lead the King’s armies. For the King orders that you have chief command under him. In four months be at the place appointed.

“(For the King) Prexaspes.”

“The King does me honor indeed!” exclaimed the Prince, angrily. “One day he insults and wrongs me; the next he appoints me leader of his army. I will march to Tyre, indeed! If I march no further towards Hamadan, it will be because I find that Athura has indeed escaped. But, alas! Gobryas, I fear much that she escaped only by the aid of a dagger.”

“Better the dagger than the fate of Artistone! Did the messenger not say he saw her at a palace window two weeks after the marriage? She is but a child, and could not escape! O, my Prince and brother! Give me leave this night to start for Persia! I do not ask you to raise your hand against the King! But I will stir up all Persia against him. May Ahriman seize him!”

Gobryas paced back and forth, greatly agitated. But the Prince shook his head.

“Let us not be hasty, dear brother!” he said. “In my own grief I had forgotten that you love Artistone. Whatever has been done cannot now be undone. Vengeance will wait and be more sure to those who make sufficient preparation. Let us hasten our departure. Perhaps Athura is flying hither, and we must prepare to receive and protect her. If it means war, let it come! I cannot throw Cambyses down from his throne; but my oath does not prohibit me from resisting his tyranny by force. I cannot agree with Otanes to make war on him. Nor can I permit you, my brother, to go into Persia to aid in a conspiracy against him. He has wronged you unwittingly and has put no insult upon you, as he has upon me. Nevertheless, if Athura has escaped and claims my protection, she shall have it even if war be the result.”

CHAPTER XIII
A CLASH OF WILLS

ATHURA and Artistone, sisters of the Great King, were alone in their magnificent sitting-room in the palace, having dismissed all their attendants. They sat on a velvet-covered couch with heads close together, discussing the latest action of the King. Between them lay a tablet on which was engraved a copy of the King’s decree, declaring the new law, that the King of Kings might marry his sisters. Some days had elapsed since the King of Kings had told them of his intention, but as he had not again spoken on the subject, they had concluded that he was jesting. This decree indicated his set purpose.

“Is the decree law?” asked Artistone.

“No, it is not law! The King cannot set aside the customs of his people by decrees,” answered Athura. “I am sure that the Kings of Iran in all ages have been bound by law and custom. But in this new empire, it may be that the King’s decree is law, since there is none to gainsay it. This decree shall never bind me! Death will be welcome rather than submission to this brutal decree!”

“What shall we do?”

“I have my dagger! I shall slay Cambyses, or myself, should he seek to force us into marriage with him.”

Artistone sighed. Her wan countenance indicated fear. She was only a child of fifteen years. But Athura lacked neither courage nor decision. The spirit of her father blazed within her.

“Let us plan escape,” she said. “This night we will leave the palace. We will disguise ourselves in men’s clothing and we will fly to Persia for safety. The lords of Persia will protect us. We cannot escape to Bactra. There is but one road and that will be watched.”

“How can I travel so?” her sister rejoined, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I am not strong like you. But I will follow you.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the noise of heavy footsteps in the hall without. The heavy curtains at the door were pushed aside and the King himself appeared. He stopped just within the threshold and, folding his arms, struck a majestic attitude and looked down at his sisters.

He writhed his brutal countenance into the semblance of a smile and said: “All hail, great Queens, wives of the King of Kings, the Great King! Are you not rejoicing that I have condescended to do you so great honor as to make you both the first ladies in all the world?”

The sisters were speechless. They gazed up at the harsh features of their brother, as if upon a serpent.

As they did not answer, he continued: “I never did like the formalities of a state marriage. My decree was the shortest and best way, since it did not require your assent. I come now to ask you to set a near date for the marriage feast. At the end of the week, you shall be crowned Queens of the Earth. What say you?”

He ceased and waited for an answer, leering at them drunkenly.

“Surely you mean not to make us actually wives, contrary to all the laws of the Medes and Persians?” said Athura.

“But it is not contrary to their laws,” he retorted. “Have I not decreed a new law? Am I not supreme? Is there any other that can make a law? Ah, you are a proud woman, Athura, and your heart is set on that Prince of Iran whom I hate above all men and would slay, were it not greater satisfaction to make him serve me without his hoped-for reward of marrying you! I have thought well on this noble revenge! I hate you also; but I will bend you to my will, and you shall be my concubine if not my wife, whether you desire or not! As for Artistone, I hate her not. I prefer to make her my chief wife. She shall be Queen. I have spoken! Artistone, go to the Queen’s room and there abide. Athura, follow me now to the room set apart for my women!”

Athura rose, her eyes blazing, and moved swiftly towards the King, with her right hand drawing from her bodice a short, keen dagger.

“Truly, brute without sense or reason,” she hissed, “I come to you, but with death in my hand!”

She leaped towards him and the dagger gleamed in her raised hand. With an exclamation of alarm the King sprang backward through the door. He stumbled and almost fell as he ran down the hall. As she did not pursue, he halted and shouted at her, while shaking his fist: “Death is it? So shall it be to you, after I bend your proud spirit!” Then he roared for his guards.

Athura paused at the door. She heard the King’s threat and his wrathful call for his body-guard. She saw the hall filling with armed men. She turned back and fled across the room, crying to her sister: “Come! Follow me into the bedroom! They come to seize us!”

But Artistone, as if dazed, sat still, and, weeping aloud, wrung her hands. Athura paused at the door of her bedroom and cried: “Come! Hurry!”

A dozen men poured into the room and rushed towards her. Artistone did not move. Athura entered her room, threw shut the heavy door, and bolted it just as the men hurled themselves against it. The King shouted in a loud voice so that Athura might hear: “Let her stay there and starve awhile! She will come to her senses! Establish guards here and watch! Let her not escape on forfeit of your lives! She will kiss my hand presently. As for you, Artistone, come with me. You shall be my Queen!” He went to Artistone, took her by the hand, and led her, weeping bitterly, away. The sisters never saw each other again.

Athura waited like a tigress at bay, dagger in hand, at her bedroom door, until satisfied that no attempt would be made to force an entrance. Then she examined the brazen lattice-work with which a window looking out upon the inner court was guarded and saw that it was securely fastened. She drew a heavy curtain over the window. Thus securely shut in she began to prepare for escape. She realized that she was powerless to aid her sister. It was equally clear to her that only in immediate escape could she avoid disgrace or death. It would be useless to ask mercy of the King. Her plan of escape was already formed. She was acquainted with every room and passage in the palace, and knew the secrets of it. Her only fear was that Cambyses also knew those secrets and would set guards to watch every avenue of escape.

After assuring herself that no immediate attempt would be made to break into her retreat, she entered a large closet, which was connected with her room by a door and in which were stored her clothing and jewels. It was a long, narrow room. At one end was a window guarded by brazen lattice-work and by shutters of the same metal. The shutter was hinged to the sills and commonly stood open to admit air into the closet. The lattice-work was also hung on hinges but was secured by a massive lock on the inside. Athura took a key from a convenient hook, cautiously inserted it into the lock in the lattice, and found that it would readily turn. She looked out across the roof of a lower portion of the palace into the park at the western side and saw no guards. Satisfied that the way was yet clear, she quickly opened a chest at one corner of the closet and took from it a short ladder of rope, a suit of clothes of a sort commonly worn by young men, and a jeweled belt from which hung a short sword. It had been years since she had used these. She sighed as she remembered how she and her brother Bardya, without the knowledge of the Great King, her father, had sometimes disguised themselves and wandered forth at night to observe the common people, to take part in their sports and entertainments, and to mingle with those who came and went on the streets of the city. How long ago that seemed! As she knelt by the chest and laid out the clothes, she recalled how the Prince of Iran, having been admitted to the secrets of her escapades, had gravely rebuked her, but had nevertheless disguised himself and accompanied her and Bardya, as he said, to protect them. The danger of her situation allowed her to think but a moment of those happy days. From another chest, bound with silver bands, she took a long necklace of precious stones, and a belt of beautifully embossed leather to which were fastened purselike compartments full of gold coins. She undressed and fastened the money-belt around her waist. Then she put on the suit of men’s clothing and stowed away the jewels in its pockets. She then cut her hair to a length just sufficient to touch the collar of her tunic. Upon her head she set a round felt cap. Critically surveying her appearance in a mirror, she saw that she resembled a well-dressed youth of the nobler class of Medes, but one whose face was far too beautiful and feminine to pass for that of a man. Taking from a cabinet a box of unguents and powders, she skillfully deepened the color of her eyebrows and darkened her complexion, until she resembled a young Mede of mixed Semitic and Aryan blood.

These preparations consumed much time. Darkness fell upon the earth. Then a heavy knocking sounded upon the door of the bedroom and a rough voice said: “May you live forever, O Great Princess! I have a message from my royal Master, the King of Kings!”

She made no answer and, after a moment, the voice continued: “Once more does the King of Kings offer you peace and a place of honor as his wife. Otherwise his sentence is that you have neither food nor water until you submit to his royal will.”

Then Athura answered, “Tell your Lord and Master that I will take until the morning to consider.”

“I am your slave!” responded the voice.

“Well, well!” exclaimed the King, when he received Athura’s message. “Our proud-spirited sister may submit, since she sends me back so mild an answer. It is well! The word of the King must prevail. A day or two of solitude will not harm her. We shall yet be a happy family!”

He laughed loud and long and drank deeply of soma. Artistone, who sat with him at dinner, made no answer, but her eyes, red with weeping, gave evidence of her woe.

As soon as darkness came fully over the palace, Athura went forth cautiously upon the roof of the portico, descended to the ground by means of her rope ladder, and stole away through the gloom among the trees and shrubbery in the park. Knowing every path, every bush and tree, it was not difficult for her to find a way and to avoid the points where the guards sauntered listlessly to and fro, keeping careless ward. The King had not remembered her avenue of escape, or the guards were careless. She climbed over the stone walls surrounding the park, with the aid of her rope ladder, and, making a détour to avoid the guards, walked rapidly and boldly into the city. She went straight to a horse-market and roused a sleepy servant, who, though at first disposed to grumble at so late a visitor, speedily turned obsequious when a coin was pressed into his hand. He forthwith brought out one of the dealers in horses.

“A pretty time to come buying horses!” grumbled the latter, yawning and stretching his limbs. “Think you, my young sprig, that I work day and night?”

“Peace, grumbler!” retorted Athura, speaking hoarsely. “If I come to buy a Nicæan steed by lamplight, what is that to you, seeing that I have the coin? I must go on a journey to-night many miles to the northward and need to hire a horse. But lest you deem me a robber, I will deposit the full price of the animal, to be returned when I return the horse. One condition only I exact—he must have speed and go comfortably without fright or stumble. Fool me in this and I will bring down the wrath of a mighty man upon you! Have you a good horse?”

“Have I a good horse? I keep nothing else, young sir! Come to the stalls!”

He led the way with alacrity. He pointed to a large animal, saying, “This one is good in bottom and long in legs. He will carry your insignificant weight all night. Here is a Nicæan steed; but he is a fierce animal and will not brook punishment of whip or spur. Speak gently to him and he will carry you a week without rest. But he surely is beyond your price!”

“What is his price? I doubt that he has such mettle as you think.”

“Fifty Lydian staters is his price. For riding him this night the price will be one Lydian stater, if you return him to me to-morrow without injury. Assuredly you may have a cheaper horse than this!”

“Extortioner! Twenty staters is more than a good price for that animal. I will surely report you to the governor of the market. Think you I know nothing of horses?”

The dealer spread out his hands and bowed as if in deep humility, saying: “I perceive your worship is well acquainted with horseflesh. Come, I will not haggle with you. Deposit your twenty staters in my hand and take him. But you will surely pay an additional stater for a fine saddle!”

“Verily you are an extortioner! But I will not haggle. One half-stater and no more! Make haste, since my lady-love will not wait for my coming too long!”

Athura took a handful of coins from a purse at her belt and counted it into the outstretched palm of the greedy dealer, whose eyes sparkled in triumph. The amount was a third more than the animal was worth. The horse was brought out, saddled and bridled, champing his bits and pawing the earth, impatient to be gone. Athura loved a good horse. She was an accomplished rider. She sprang lightly into the saddle and trotted away, shouting back at the dealer: “Farewell, son of Ahriman! Keep the gold should I not return. I may go on to Rhages before I come back.”

The dealer waved his hand in reply and said to his servant: “Young sprig! Thought he knew the prices of animals! Bah! But then, he has a good horse, even if he paid a stiff price. Who can he be? May the dogs bite him if he try to return that animal! See that you be ready to testify that this was a sale and not a letting. We shall not repurchase the horse.”

“Yea, verily, Master, it was a sale,” answered the servant. Then they retired to their couches well satisfied.

Athura cantered rapidly along the principal street of the city going north. Night watchmen threw upon her the rays of their lanterns. She passed a squad of soldiers in front of a public house, where, under the influence of wine, they were singing and making merry. To their gibes, she waved her hand, but declined their invitation to alight and join them. She came to the outer boundaries of the city on the road to Rhages. There the guards sat carelessly playing dice in their shelter at the roadside. They heard the rapid hoof-beats of a horse approaching from the city, but before they could come forth to challenge, the horse with its rider flashed by at full speed. In a second, the twain disappeared in a cloud of dust and darkness. Grumbling that their ease should be thus broken, the guards returned to their game. Had they known who had passed and that on the morrow they would be flayed alive and quartered by an infuriated King, they would not have been so careless. This was not their first omission of duty, but it was the first in which the King was directly concerned; and it was their last. They met their fate at sundown on the morrow in the market-place after a short interrogation by the King himself, as an exhibition to all men of the King’s justice upon those who neglected duty.

It must be said of Cambyses that although to his own passions and desires he gave loose rein and was brutal to those who interfered therewith, yet to his subjects he was just, and was strict in the enforcement of law. Because he regarded himself as the lawgiver, he regarded a breach of the law as an insult to himself. He caused one corrupt judge to be flayed alive in the market-place. Other evil-doers were maimed or strangled. Not only did the guards of the road whose orders compelled them to exact a pass of any one passing in or out of the city after nightfall suffer, but several palace-guards whose duty it was to watch the palace walls, were strangled with the bowstring. His fury even threatened Prexaspes, but that astute official was able to prove that he had gone on a mission to a neighboring city and could not be involved in Athura’s sudden disappearance. Spies soon learned of the flight of the steed and its rider on the northern road. They found the horse-dealer, whose description of the rider indicated that it was Athura in disguise who had hired the horse. Bands of troopers were sent out on every road and into the fields and mountains around the city. None knew except the captains in charge of the bands for whom the search was being made. It was reported generally that a robber had broken into the palace and carried away some of the King’s jewels.

Athura rode northward for half an hour, then turning sharply to the right and following a road which was little better than a path, but which led to one of the King’s desert gardens, she came to a well-beaten caravan-route leading southward towards what is now the city of Isfahan. Taking this road, she followed it southward until she entered a road branching southwestward to Adrapan, the winter palace of Cyrus. By this circuitous way she hoped to deceive those who might pursue into the belief that she was fleeing to Bactra by way of Rhages. She did not dare take the road to Persia direct, but planned to ride by way of Susa, or, perhaps, if her intention should change upon reflection, she would flee to Damascus and thence to her Prince at Sardis. As she rode, her active brain elaborated her plans.

The night was cool and clear. The brilliant stars scintillated in the autumn sky. A quarter-moon gave down a subdued light. A breeze swept down from Mount Elwend, whose rugged heights lay darkly against the western sky. The road to Adrapan followed the base of a promontory of the Zagros range, which here jutted out into the plain. Here and there near the highway were the cottages of gardeners, who by irrigating their crops with the precious waters of Elwend, caused the fertile soil to yield the vegetable supply for the capital city. The odor of flowers and fruits permeated the air. The strong, spirited horse, glorying in his strength and scarce feeling the weight of his rider, galloped onward with long, even strides. No one interrupted their progress. The cottagers, if partially aroused by the rapid beat of hoofs and the barking of dogs, sleepily muttered, “A King’s messenger!” turned over on their pallets, and again slumbered.

Adrapan lay on the southern slopes of Mount Elwend. Here the snows, which annually fell over Hamadan, seldom came; and, if they did, the southern exposure to the sun caused them quickly to melt away. To the right of the highway which passed westward through the village was the palace, in a great park of noble trees. On the left were several houses occupied by those who made their livelihood trading with the thousands of nobles and retainers who honored the King as his guests or served him as retainers. Here caravans from Damascus and the west coming by way of Nineveh, or from the south, coming by way of Babylon and Susa, stopped to enjoy the salubrious climate and recuperate after enduring the hot districts along the Tigris and the difficult roads across the Zagros Mountains. At this time the palace and its park were in the care of keepers and Adrapan was deserted, save by inn-keepers and traders.

Athura sighed as she came in sight of the village. She remembered the pleasant days when, a child, she had wandered in the park with her father, or played there with Bardya and the young Prince of Iran. How long ago those days seemed! Her noble, erect, keen-eyed, kind-hearted, and loving father; her joyous, laughter-loving, and boisterous brother; and the tall youth, whose calm demeanor, royal bearing, and worshipful eyes were ever in her mind—all appeared in her memory. Tears came into her eyes, and her lips trembled with emotion. She brought her panting steed to a stop within the deep shadows of the trees and halted a moment to consider her course. If she should pass through the village, she might be seen and accosted. If she should enter the park, she would incur danger from wild beasts which sometimes came down from the mountains. Bears, wolves, a leopard, a tiger, and even a lion had been seen in the park. She knew all the paths through the woodland and that, by going a roundabout way, she might avoid the palace and the village, but it would lead through wild, dark places. Though she had fear of wild beasts, she feared more to be overtaken by the pursuers that her brother might send after her. She decided to follow the dark paths of the forest and defy the dangers from wild beasts. Turning her horse, she plunged boldly into the woodland.

The turf deadened the hoof-beats of the horse. No sound was heard save the cry of an owl, the song of a bulbul, and the chirp of insects. Gathering the bridle reins in one hand, she drew the short sword from its sheath at her belt with the other and carried it ready to meet any danger that might assail her. Once she raised the sword high towards heaven and prayed in a whisper, “Thou, Ahura-Mazda, Good Spirit and Protector, send Sraosha, victorious leader of the hosts of heaven, to guard me from Angro-mainyus and the Devas!”

She went slowly and warily. A dim light from the declining moon and the stars enabled her to recognize the pathways. Her horse, tossing his noble head and pricking forward his slender ears, followed the paths with certain step, unafraid of the sounds of the night. If a bear or wolf, sniffing the breeze on the heights above, became aware of their presence, it did not descend to investigate, nor did any leopard, tiger, or lion molest her. For an hour she slowly followed the devious ways, but at length returned to the highway a parasang west of the village. That she had acted wisely appeared on the following day, when a squad of the King’s horsemen rode into Adrapan and made inquiry. The villagers and the palace watchmen swore that no one had passed through during the preceding night, although careful vigil had been maintained on account of a report that a band of robbers had been seen in the neighboring mountains.

On the highway again, horse and rider, somewhat rested by the leisurely progress through the woodland, sped away westward at a gallop. The highway was smooth for several miles, until it plunged into the defiles of the Zagros Mountains, through which flowed the headwater streams of the river Choaspes. Then it became more difficult, with steep grades, crossing on stone bridges over deep gorges, the beds of roaring streams, and winding about steep bluffs and over sharp ridges. Morning found the fugitive many miles from Hamadan in the midst of mountains; and her weariness and that of her steed warned her that she must find a resting-place. Twice she fruitlessly turned from the road to follow paths leading up narrow canyons, hoping to find a suitable hiding-place. The third time she followed a narrow pass leading into a small valley and there found a sheepfold and a shepherd’s cabin. The shepherd and his flock were in the hills, where the warm rays of the sun and the waters of many springs kept the grass sweet and tender.

Finding the hut empty and no one near, Athura descended stiffly from her horse and searched for food. She found a large jar of barley in the hut and gave her horse a generous feed from it. Then, having tied him to a tree, she searched the cabin for food that she might eat. The long ride had made her tired and faint. Hunger reminded her that she had eaten nothing since the previous noon. She opened cupboards and chests and presently found a box in which the shepherd had left a piece of roasted mutton and some round flat cakes of bread, made of coarse barley flour. The fare satisfied her hunger. Then she shut and barred the stout cabin-door and threw herself upon a bundle of sheep-skins which lay on the floor, and slept several hours. When the day was half gone, after another hasty meal she went on her way.

The shepherd did not return till the shades of night were falling. His surprise and indignation were great when he found that some one had entered his cabin, eaten his bread and meat, and taken some of his grain; but he was delighted when he found lying in the bread-box a gold piece. He tried the coin with his teeth and excitedly turned it over and over in his palm. Then he hid it safely in the earth at one corner of his hut.

“Truly,” he muttered, “some god must have rested here, or a spirit of the hills! But no, they would not eat my food. May luck go with this patron of mine forever!”

It was after noon when Athura left the shepherd’s hut and rode out of the canyon to the highway. She turned her face westward and rode as rapidly as the steep grades and dangerous passes would permit, anxiously scanning every reach ahead lest she meet a caravan, an inquisitive traveler, or a band of robbers. Outlaws frequently attacked caravans in those days and places, as they do yet. Travel except with guards or in large companies was dangerous. Once as she rode past the mouth of a canyon she observed several men sitting around a camp-fire a hundred paces from the road. When they observed her, they shouted and ran to their horses, which were grazing near by them. She spoke to her horse and urged him to greater speed. He responded nobly. The hiss of an arrow passed over her head. Her horse, as if realizing the need of haste, fled with frightful speed. Once she looked back and saw the pursuers; but, as they were mounted on small mountain ponies, they were soon left far behind and gave over the pursuit.

With an occasional halt at the crest of ridges over which the road passed, the fugitive pressed onward till night fell. After stopping a short time to allow the horse to graze and rest, she continued the flight during the night hours. The brawling river along whose course the way led filled the canyons with its murmur. The cry of night birds and the howl of wolves sounded dismally from the heights. Once her horse snorted and sprang away at a rapid pace from the shadow of a clump of bushes. At another time he shook his head and dashed madly at several dark, slinking forms in the road; these leaped aside from his charge, snarling and chattering. It required all her will to restrain the fear of unknown and unseen dangers of the darkness and hills which gripped at her heart. She allowed her intelligent horse to pick his own way, and he did not fail her.

At midnight she emerged from the mountain gorges and entered the little plain of Bagistan, where she halted at the base of the celebrated rock of Behistun. She recognized this great rock, on which was engraved in huge letters the legend of Semiramis. As she looked up at its bold, jagged skyline, she wondered whether the time would ever come when she, like Semiramis, might stand there the queen of the world. Years afterwards she did stand there as queen of the world and watched the workmen of her husband erase the story of Semiramis and carve thereon a short history of his own exploits. She dismounted and, standing by the side of her horse, leaned wearily against him and meditated what road to take. For here was a parting of the ways. To her right, the road led to Nineveh, Damascus, and Sardis, where she might find her Prince; to the left lay the road to Susa and Persepolis. Should she go to the Prince of Iran and thus plunge him into war with Cambyses, or should she seek the protection of the lords of Persia? It was a grave question, hard to solve, and she almost wept because of her own indecision.

“All hail and live forever, Princess Athura! Be not afraid!” A voice came to her out of the darkness near the great rock.

Gasping with dismay, she sprang into the saddle and was about to flee.

“Be not afraid!” said the voice again, and the tone was strangely familiar and reassuring.

“Who speaks?” she demanded.

“Your servant, Belteshazzer, the Hebrew, gracious lady!”

The voice recalled the days when she sat at the feet of the great teacher and listened to his wisdom.

“It must indeed be Belteshazzer!” she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. “None else could know me! Now Ahura-Mazda be praised! How come you here?”

A tall form emerged from the darker shadows and drew near. “I came up from Susa in obedience to the command of a spirit,” he said. “I knew not why I was urged to come until I reached the shadow of this great rock. Then I knew that I was sent to meet you here. In the spirit I saw you coming. Do you remember the lessons in the west tower of the palace at Hamadan, and how the Hebrew was not easy for you to learn?”

She remembered well this wonderful man, whose wisdom was that of a god, whose eyes read the very thoughts of men, and whose heart was pure and kind. With a happy note in her voice she answered: “Truly, Master, I am that unapt scholar in Hebrew! What joy to meet you here! Truly God has guided you hither! Now I may call upon your great wisdom to advise me what to do. Approach nearer, I pray you!”

Belteshazzer advanced to the side of the horse and, bending over the fair hand she extended to him, touched it with his forehead in reverence and affection.

“I hold it great happiness to be of service to you,” he said. “In the village near by is my caravan. I have there a new tent with new furniture never used by any other. It is at your service. There await your service also two handmaidens of my own race, daughters of a prince of my family, discreet and worthy of trust. I have also many servants, all well-armed. My caravan is large. Come and dwell with us until the years of Cambyses shall be fulfilled. I know from what you have fled. You shall be a princess of my people until these troublous days are over. O Most Beloved of the Nations, you may abide in my care until the time when your Prince shall come to the throne! If you tire of the tent-life with the caravan, my palace in Shushan, or my house in Babylon, shall be yours.”

“Is it best that I do not go to the Prince now?”

“It is best that you do not. It would mean instant war between him and Cambyses. The times are not right for that. Neither should you go to the lords of Persia. For Cambyses has already sent armed men out on all the roads leading to Persepolis. Even now couriers are not far behind you going to Susa with orders to watch for and intercept you.”

“I will be guided by you, O Prophet of God! Lead the way and I will follow.”

He led the way towards the village of Bagistan in the valley below, and soon came to his caravan. He conducted her to a beautiful tent furnished with all the luxuries of tent-life. Two beautiful maidens were brought to her.

“My children,” said Belteshazzer to them, “behold your mistress. She is one of the great ones of earth and is worthy of all service. She shall be known to you as the Princess Esther. It is enough for you to know that she is one most highly favored of our God. You must obey her slightest wish. Your training in the house of Belteshazzer has fitted you to serve the greatest of earth. Let your tongues never speak unto others what you may see or hear concerning her. To all questions say that she is a relative of Belteshazzer. For are we not all descended from one common Father?”

They fell on their knees before Athura, the strange, beautiful one, whose face was that of a woman though her garb was that of a man. Each, taking one of Athura’s hands, placed it upon her head, saying in the soft accents of the Syrian tongue: “We shall heed your words, great Master. We are her servants.”

Athura smiled upon the maidens and raising them up impulsively kissed them, saying in the same language, with which she was familiar: “Your service will be light. You shall be my sisters and companions rather than servants. The princesses of the house of Belteshazzer are worthy to be friends of the highest born.”

Belteshazzer then retired. From chests full of rich garments, the maids quickly produced feminine apparel and at once proceeded to bathe, dress, and perfume their new mistress. Presently, under their ministrations, Athura in all her matchless beauty and royal demeanor stood before them like Deborah of old, a veritable Hebrew princess.

Belteshazzer traveled into Arabia, and the Princess Esther went with him. No one imagined that the beautiful young woman, to whom all naturally gave deference, was the first Princess of the Empire.

CHAPTER XIV
THE WAR AGAINST EGYPT

THE Great King continued to prepare for war with the Egyptians. There came to him a Greek named Phanes, who at one time had been high in the service of King Amasis of Egypt, but who, having conspired against him, was compelled to flee. By flattery and art he raised himself high in the estimation of Cambyses and inflamed his mind with tales of the wealth that would be found in the great temples of the Nile Valley. The King then hastened his preparations and sent him to raise levies amongst the Ionian Greeks. The Greeks who remained in the service of the Egyptian King so hated him because of his treachery that they had made a blood covenant to kill him. But he succeeded in recruiting a large body of his countrymen, who marched with him and the Prince of Iran towards Tyre.

When spring opened, the vast array of men whom the King had gathered from Iran, Assyria, and Babylonia, marched by way of Damascus towards Tyre. Many nations contributed troops. Wild mountaineers of the Caucasus marched shoulder to shoulder with the polished, slighter-built Babylonians. The light-armed Getæ and Derbicæ rode with the heavy cavalry of the Medes and Persians. From Bactra and Sogdiana came a portion of the veteran army of King Hystaspis. From the Zagros and Elburz mountains poured out the fierce infantry of Aryan blood. Chariots, hundreds in number, rumbled over the rough desert roads. Bowmen, spearmen, slingers, and swordsmen, a half million or more in all, rolled like a tide across the wastes. The army under the Prince of Iran was composed for the most part of veterans of many wars, inured to army life and eager to follow their Prince to battle. Its nucleus was the old Imperial Guard of Cyrus, recruited to its full number of thirty thousand horsemen. The remainder were fighters from the warlike peoples of his satrapy—Lydians, Greeks, Scythians of the Black Sea regions, Paphlagonians, Hebrews, and Syrians.

It was springtime when the Great King, leaving Patatheites, the Magian, as regent of the empire, departed from his capital of Hamadan, accompanied by his sister-wife, Artistone, and a portion of his harem. A thousand servants marched with him to administer to his comfort. He journeyed by easy stages to Damascus and thence to Tyre.

The city of Tyre, though nominally independent, had been coerced into lending her fleets to the King of Kings. Though it occupied a strong position on an island and though its people carried on a great trade with Egypt, yet when the veteran army of the Prince of Iran encamped on the mainland opposite, and his demand came in the name of the Great King that it should furnish a fleet of vessels for his use, it hastened to comply.

During the weeks that had passed since he had received a copy of the decree of the King concerning the marriage of Cambyses to his sisters, the Prince had visibly aged. He had become taciturn and stern. A smile seldom appeared upon his countenance. His officers, who had known him for years, sympathized with him but grumbled at his obstinacy in not declaring war against Cambyses. They were ready for revolt. Gobryas especially was discontented. He was bitter towards the King because of the wreck of his hopes of winning Artistone. He reported to the Prince the spirit of revolt that pervaded the army and urged him repeatedly to act; but the latter requested him to wait.

When the Persian and Bactrian troops arrived, having outmarched the King, who lingered at Damascus, their leaders came to the Prince and offered their services, if he would but consent to seize the government. Letters arrived from Otanes, urging him to seize Cambyses. To all he said, “Wait!” Couriers came from his father counseling prudence and loyalty, at least until it should certainly appear that the King held Athura against her will. A mighty struggle went on within him. Oath-bound loyalty to the King could scarce restrain the wrath that fired his soul to action against the hated tyrant.

When the couriers arrived from Damascus saying that the King was about to leave that city, the Prince called them aside and inquired of them if they knew whether the King was bringing his sisters with him. They reported that he had with him Artistone, whom he presented to all as his Queen; but as for Athura no one knew where she was, though it was currently reported that he had imprisoned her in his harem at Hamadan. His own couriers and spies returned from Hamadan without other information than rumors, some of which indicated that Athura was dead, others that she had escaped to Persia, and others that she was imprisoned in the King’s harem.

While he was in this state of indecision, resolved one day to raise the standard of revolt and march against Cambyses, and the next to remain loyal, at least till he should know the truth concerning Athura’s fate, Prexaspes, attended by a company of Medean cavalry, rode into camp and requested an interview. The Prince received him without delay, and alone in his tent. The wily Mede, after due salutation, went straight to the subject of his mission.

“Great and illustrious Prince,” he said, as he stood before the Prince of Iran, who looked upon him coldly and suspiciously, “I have come on in advance of the King with his permission. I have heard of the efforts of the powerful ones to persuade you to revolt and I know also that you believe you have just cause in the act of the King with relation to his sisters. I have made the Great King realize that he has committed the worst blunder of his life and that upon your acts will not only depend the result of this war but the continuance of his empire. I call to your remembrance that the subject nations are but waiting for the outbreak of civil war amongst the Aryans to throw off the Aryan rule. Should you revolt, every conquered nation would revolt; and if you should succeed, you would have the world to conquer over again. This you know as well as I. Is it not so?”

He paused. The Prince of Iran inclined his head in assent.

“Proceed with your message,” he said coldly.

“This being so,” continued Prexaspes, “I deemed it best to come hither and tell you the facts with relation to the King’s brother and sister. I am reliably informed that Prince Bardya is dead. He died at the hands of mountain robbers. Of course I do not know this for certain. As to the Princess Athura, she escaped the same day that the King issued his decree, a copy of which I sent to you. He never consummated his marriage with her. I know that she escaped, because the King suspected that I had aided her. As to whether I did aid her or not, I say nothing, except that I rejoiced when I heard it—not openly, for I apparently made every exertion to find her. Now the King was advised to marry his sisters by a certain Magian prophet who predicted that a son of his sister should sit on the throne after him. The King is impulsive and acted without advising with me. But having married Artistone, he is satisfied that he has complied with the prophet’s prediction; and in order that you may know his good-will towards you he has made a second decree, declaring that Athura is free from wedlock with him and granting her leave to marry whom she will. This am I directed to place in your hand upon being satisfied that you are firm in adherence to your oath taken to Cyrus and will state that you will remain loyal to the King. The King also confirms you in the office of chief commander of this army under him. I assure you, Great Prince, that the King is sincere, though, I frankly state, it is because he knows that one word from you or any injury to you would be the signal for the rebellion of all Iran save perhaps Medea.”

He paused. The Prince stood in silence a moment gazing at the floor, considering the King’s message.

“Will the King give me his statement as King that he has not done injury to Athura?” he then demanded.

“Not only that, but he has stated in this his decree that the marriage never has been consummated. Furthermore I know all that happened from a private examination of the servants who saw the King when he went to the Princesses to announce his will to them,—how he fled from Athura’s dagger; how he set watches at her bedroom door; how there stood open the lattice of a closet-window connected with the bedroom by which she escaped; and how, afterwards, the rope ladder by which she passed over the walls was found; and it is even known how she purchased a horse which later was found near Bagistan. She rode away on it disguised as a youth. There she disappeared.”

The Prince started and smiled slightly when Prexaspes mentioned the hinged lattice in the closet-window. He had heard from Athura of this means of egress before. He asked eagerly, “No further trace of her has been found?”

“No. But the King thinks she has fled to you or to Persia.”

The Prince did not answer this suggestion but held his hand out for the decrees, saying: “Assure the King that I accept his decree and will loyally support him. But let him not again, I implore, place me in so grave a position, lest I forget my vow to the great Cyrus!” He took the decrees from the hand of Prexaspes, who bowed low and backed from the tent with a second low salaam.

So it came about that Cambyses feared not to come on to Tyre and that the army, duly marshaled in massive lines, received the Great King with honor. The Prince of Iran, accompanied by Hydarnes of the foot soldiers, Vomisces of the cavalry, and a hundred other Persian officers, greeted the King at the limits of the camp and followed him as he rode slowly between the lines of soldiers to his pavilion. The soldiers knelt as he passed, shuddering or wondering as they saw the bloated red face and cold, glittering eyes of their ruler. When they saw the Prince of Iran riding near his right hand in the place of honor, they were pleased and broke forth in acclamations, which the Great King thought were given to him. But his countenance gave no indication of his emotions, and his greetings to his officers were slight and cold.

No sooner had the King entered his pavilion and called for wine than Prexaspes, who had personal charge of the King’s household, entered, and, having bent his knee, requested leave to speak. The King said impatiently:

“Well, speak! Undoubtedly you come to preach policy again! I liked not the dark looks of those cursed Persians! I have a mind to send some of those officers a bowstring!”

“Having your gracious leave, O King, I will speak plainly,” said Prexaspes, boldly. “Does not my welfare depend solely upon your favor? Believe that I speak, therefore, for your best interests. There was grave trouble brewing amongst those Persians. The favor you have shown to the Magi and your marriage with your sister, against which, you know, I most strongly advised, and the grave insult thereby inflicted upon the Prince of Iran, have stirred in them the spirit of revolt. I have trembled, O King! My spies have kept me well informed. There stands between you and destruction at this moment the word of one man, and that one is the Prince of Iran! Order me stricken dead, if you will, O King, for speaking so boldly; but I tell you the truth! I swear by all the gods, I speak the truth!”

The King’s face was dark with wrath, but he realized the force of his adviser’s words. He gulped down a great cup of wine, threw the cup upon the floor, and passed a trembling hand over his face.

“You may speak truth, Prexaspes,” he admitted. “But how about the Medes and the other levies, are they not faithful? They outnumber the Persians and Bactrians. Besides, have I not stultified myself already by your advice and placated that same Prince of Iran?”

“The Medes may be depended upon, but none others. It is true we have placated the Prince of Iran. But with your permission I will offer further advice.”

“Say on!”

“I advise that you send for the Prince of Iran and personally greet him with your royal hand and assure him of your favor as King. Thus will you fasten him to your cause and satisfy the Aryans, by whose power alone you may hope to prosecute this war successfully.”

The King broke forth in a torrent of curses and imprecations. It was a bitter tonic that Prexaspes had prescribed. He hated the Prince of Iran with the hatred of jealousy and fear. He ended his explosion by saying:

“But the day will come when I shall surely slay that man! Now, indeed, I see that I must dissemble. Press me not too far on this path, Prexaspes, lest I slay you! Go then and command him to come here. I will dissemble. I will be as wise as a serpent—for a time!”

Prexaspes bowed low and backed from the royal presence. He sent a messenger to the Prince of Iran, who came at once.

The Prince was pale but composed. He bowed low over the King’s extended hand, saying: “I am here at the King’s command. Let it please the King to command.”

The King glowered sullenly upon the Prince, but endeavored to infuse into his tones a note of cordiality, as he said: “Prince Hystaspis, I have trusted you greatly, though, as you well know, no love has ever been between us. I hear that there has been much treasonable talk in this army.”

“I know there is much dissatisfaction, O King!” answered the Prince. “But it cannot be said to be treasonable. The people of Iran like not the power and place given to the fire-worshipers of the hills. The Persians, who occupied the chief places under King Cyrus, are grieved that they have not found favor with his son.”

“We will show these proud slaves who grumble, that the King of Kings brooks no interference!” exclaimed the King, his anger blazing forth for an instant. “Prexaspes has given you my decree concerning Athura. You may rest assured that she and you may marry safely. Where is she? Of all men, you should know.”

The Prince was surprised at this question, and the manner of the King. Evidently Cambyses was endeavoring to restrain his passions and speak pleasantly to him.

“I have not seen the royal lady since I bade her farewell at Persepolis and took with me her pledge to marry me,” he answered. “Neither have I had a letter from her since the day when it pleased you to make a new law that the King might marry his sisters. Nor have I heard what has become of her, save that I did hear rumors that she had escaped or had been slain by your orders.”

“The report that Athura is dead is not true!” said Cambyses. “She fled from the palace the day my decree was made and keeps well hidden, though my slaves have searched the world for her. Find her and marry her, if you will! You have my consent. Let that subject be forgotten between us. Is this army ready to march?”

“It is ready.”

“Then let the march begin on the morrow. The insults we have received from Egypt’s King must be avenged and that country added to our empire. It is said to be very rich. I am weary with the day’s journey and will rest. Give such orders as you deem necessary. Cambyses, the King of Kings, remembers not the former days. My trust and favor I give to you; and my consent to your marriage with Athura shall not be withdrawn.”

He turned away, and the Prince with a salute left the pavilion. It seemed to the latter that the sky had taken on a new glory and that the golden rays of the setting sun were indicative of joy. A load had been lifted from his heart. Athura had escaped a miserable fate and must be still alive. One so resourceful as she would know how to save herself. It mattered little that Cambyses hated him. His duty demanded faithful service to the King and his oath to the Great King would remain unbroken. He called together his friends among the officers and briefly informed them that all present cause for dissatisfaction had been removed and that he expected of them loyal service to the King.

On the next day the great army slowly uncoiled its vast length and moved down the narrow coast-line of Canaan, bearing woe to ancient Egypt.

Egypt was ill-prepared for war. From the time that Cyrus had reduced all Syria, including Canaan, to subjection, the Egyptian King, Amasis, had known that a conflict with the new world-power would come. He had heard of the preparations for war made by Cambyses and had endeavored to make ready. But Egypt had long since lost its ancient vigor. Its people had become rich and indolent. They loved not war. They depended mainly upon foreign auxiliaries hired by their money for their defense. Thirty thousand Greeks and many thousand adventurers from other lands formed the main strength of the Egyptian army. Levies drawn from an agricultural and trading people among the Egyptians themselves were neither practiced in war nor enthusiastic in the service and made poor soldiers. They were brave and many in number, but they knew little discipline. They could not stand before the fearful rush of the Persian cavalry or the tiger-like ferocity of the Aryan infantry. They outnumbered the army of Cambyses, but their very numbers were a source of weakness because of their lack of discipline.

Just as the war was beginning, old King Amasis had died, leaving his throne to a youth named Psammenitus, who had not the skill himself nor good generals to lead his army. But he marched forth and took position in the desert near Pelusium, with the left of his line of battle resting on the Great Sea and its right protecting the water-wells and barring the main caravan road to Egypt, determined to strike one blow in defense of his kingdom. His Greeks were placed on the left, supported by Cretan slingers. The center was held by stout Ethiopian infantry, black men of ferocious courage, armed with javelins and swords, terrible in close contest. Behind them was a mass of Egyptians. On the right, where the plain was more level, there were two hundred chariots supported by a mass of irregular cavalry, principally Arabs, armed with scimiters and long, slender spears.

The Prince of Iran led the Aryan host with his thirty thousand horsemen of the Guard, driving back the Arab cavalry which came out to harass his advance, until the position and extent of the Egyptian army were disclosed. From the crest of a sand-dune near the sea, he carefully surveyed the position occupied by Psammenitus. It was the afternoon of a cloudless day. At his right glistened the sea, its oily waves scarce rippling on the shores. At his left and rear, the mountains of Palestine were a dim cloud on the horizon. Before him was a vast plain, gray and brown with dust and sand, where the opposing army was making ready for battle. He noted the orderly Greeks, the dark array of Ethiopians, and the wheeling, clattering chariots, taking their appointed places. The Prince was accompanied by Gobryas and several of his chief captains, who stood near with the light of battle in their eyes and joy in their hearts. For the long, hot marches would end here in victory. They did not dream of defeat.

The Prince soon formed his plan of battle. He directed the Guard to take a position in a long line, with its right resting at the sand-dune and its left thrown back in a wide curve so as to protect the approaching infantry from attacks of the Arabs.

“Let all our forces be brought up to-night and placed in position. Let them sleep on their arms and be ready to attack at daylight. The wells of water are in possession of the enemy and we must have them to-morrow or die of thirst. Here must we conquer or die. If we lose the battle, every tribe in Syria and Armenia will revolt and attempt to cut us off from retreat to our homes,” said the Prince, turning to his officers after a long survey of the field.

He then gave orders for placing the troops. As the sun went down, his dusty battalions were taking their appointed positions behind the long line of cavalry. He placed the Persian and Medean infantry opposite the Greeks, with its right resting on the sea. In the center were the allied races, principally footmen. On the left were the war-chariots, opposing the chariots of the enemy. Then the cavalry was withdrawn to the rear and massed behind the extreme left. Imitating the tactics of the Great Cyrus in his last battle, he intended to make a détour to the left with the cavalry, assail the extreme end of the enemy’s right, and roll it back to the sea. The pack-train, camp equipage, and the King’s pavilion were placed in the rear near the sea and enclosed within a palisade of stakes driven into the earth. But the King, as became a Persian warrior, bivouacked with the soldiers, having taken his station on the sand-dunes at the right, where he could see the field of battle.

Night fell upon the opposing hosts, and midnight arrived before the final dispositions were made. Videttes and sentinels were duly stationed, and the tired soldiers lay down on their arms to snatch a few hours of rest. The Prince of Iran was about to lie down on the sand in the midst of his guard when a slave, clad in the livery of the King, came and prayed leave to speak with him. Bidden to speak, he said: “My gracious mistress, the Queen, requests you to come to her if it be possible. I am directed to guide you.”

The Prince hesitated. He knew that Artistone, the younger of the King’s sisters, was referred to as the Queen. It was the privilege of the noble Persians and their wives to visit each other; but the King had introduced the customs of the seraglio, the separate harem, the veiled faces, and the seclusion of wives. The slave, noticing his hesitation, continued: “The King is not in his pavilion and the Queen will meet you in the tent of her slaves. She greatly desires you to come. She would speak of the Princess Athura.”

The Prince no longer hesitated. He drew Gobryas to one side and informed him of his design. Then, throwing a rough cloak about his shoulders, as a disguise, he motioned the servant to proceed, and followed him. They entered the palisadoed camp and went to a tent near the King’s pavilion. The slave watched outside while the Prince went in and met the child-wife of the King.

The interior of the tent was dimly lighted by a lamp burning perfumed oil. At one side was a low couch, and, reclining thereon, was Artistone. He bent his knee before her and kissed the slender white hand she held out to him.

“Greeting, Prince and brother!” said she. “How I have longed to see some one I do not fear! This camp is full of spies, placed by the King to watch me and the other women he has brought with him. Only in this one slave who brought you hither and in two maidens who dress me, have I any confidence. How good it is to see your face!”

“It gives me great delight, little sister, to come at your bidding. How may I serve you?” he returned.

“I hear that a great battle is about to take place. Is it true?”

“It is. But have no fear of the result. We shall scatter the enemy like sand before a desert wind.”

“I have no fear. I would go out and watch the battle if I were permitted. Know you aught of Athura?”

“Nothing, except that the King said she had escaped. Can you tell me of her?”

Tears filled the Queen’s eyes and wet her cheeks. “Alas!” she said, “I fear she is dead. She locked herself in her room after attempting to stab the King with her dagger when he came and announced to us his decree of marriage. The palace-guards were set to watch at the door. I was taken away and never saw her more. Sometimes, when the King is savage and drunken or is displeased and desires to cause me grief, he says that he had her tortured to death. But at other times he says that she escaped. I hoped that she had communicated with you. Surely she must be dead or she would have done so!”

“She attempted to slay him?”

“Yes. Her fury was terrible. The King would have been killed had he not fled. He came to our sitting-room, the room in the palace where we so often played when we were children, and announced that he would make us his wives. After some words, Athura drew a dagger and sprang upon him. He leaped back out of the room and ran. He shouted to the guards. They came. She retreated to her bedroom and barred the door. Then the King dragged me away and—I am the most unhappy woman living! Ah! how often I think of those pleasant days of our childhood when our mother loved and played with us and our father smiled upon us so graciously! Do you not remember them? Will happiness never return to me again? Should I die by my own hand as I am tempted?”

The Prince was deeply affected. His voice shook with emotion, as he answered: “Child, it may be the day of deliverance will come, perhaps to-morrow. Who knows? I know not what to advise. Death is but a step into a better existence. Did not Zoroaster, the divine, so teach? What said Belteshazzer, the Hebrew? He, the wisest of men, who talks with spirits, who reads all dreams and riddles, who prophesies of the future—he says that death is a blessed relief, in that we drop a body which suffers and is weak, while the spirit life is one of great glory and peace. I do not advise death. I do not think Athura is dead. It may be she has gone to Prince Bardya or to my father in Bactra. It is a long way to Bactra, and it has been difficult to send messengers. There are many reasons why she should not communicate.”

Artistone shuddered and leaned nearer to him as she whispered in a frightened manner: “But she could not go to Bardya! I am sure that the King has murdered him. Oh, I saw him as one slain! On the night of the farewell feast, long after he had left the room, the Magi were performing wonders and producing specters and awful forms. At the last there came the pale face of Bardya, floating in the air above them, fierce, blood-stained, with a horrible wound in the forehead as if made by a sword! I have heard the King mutter in his sleep, as he lay half-drunken in the night, about the murder of Bardya. He talks in his sleep and sees fearful visions! He wakes trembling and shrieking with fear. Ah, my brother, I know that Bardya is dead!”

The Prince believed her and smote his knee with his clenched fist, as he exclaimed: “The day will come when the devil-worshipers, with their black lies and conjuring, will be put down with a mighty hand! And thou,” he cried, raising his face and one hand to heaven, “O Ahura-Mazda, the only God, grant to me the opportunity to avenge the death of Bardya, to avenge the insults to your altars, upon that whole evil caste; and I will declare your glory upon all the hills!”

“May your prayer be granted!” said the Queen, fervently. “How the world would be blessed if some day you should lead the hosts of truth against these evil and idolatrous men! The nations would rejoice if you were monarch of the world instead of this monster!”

“Hush!” warned the Prince. “My oath will permit no such thoughts, and it is not wise that you should thus speak. But I must now leave you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, my brother. I desire you not to think evil of me. I am not gifted with the will of Athura. I have elected to suffer awhile in patience my strange and unnatural position as wife of the King. Sister and wife! Such I have heard is the evil custom of the Egyptians, who, it is said by Phanes, the Greek, even married their own mothers as well as their sisters, in order that their royal race might not mingle with a less royal! Have great care, my brother! The King would slay you if he dared. He is jealous of you.”

The Prince arose and stood looking down in great pity at the childish, careworn face of Artistone.

“I do not fear the King,” he said. “I am guarded by a powerful spirit who will not permit harm to come to me. I do not serve Cambyses, but, rather, the King of Kings and the Aryan race. I shall go into battle, rejoicing to fight for my people. I hope the day may soon come when I may aid in crushing those liars who are destroying true religion and leading Cambyses astray. But now I must go. Should need come, send for me.”

He turned to leave; but she asked, while a faint color suffused her pale cheeks: “What of the noble Gobryas? Is he well and—happy?”

“He is well, but he is not happy. Gobryas has been much pained by the action of the King in forcing you into this unnatural marriage. May I say to him that you remember him kindly?”

“Yes. Tell him that it will please me more than all else, if he shall acquit himself well in the battle, and that he must not too greatly endanger his life. We know not what the future has in store. Farewell, brother! May Sraosha place his buckler before you on the morrow!”

The Prince departed quietly. The child-queen buried her face in her arms and wept bitterly.

At the first gray light of morn the Prince and several officers rode swiftly along the front of the army. As they passed, the soldiers sprang up and shouted, clashing their arms upon their shields and demanding to be led to battle. He paused here and there to utter words of direction and advice to the officers. To the center he said: “You must move slowly forward and hold all the ground you gain until you see the cavalry charging the right of the enemy. Then go forward with a rush.” To the general of the right wing he said: “Stand fast here on the sand-dunes and attack not those Greeks until you see the cavalry charging the Egyptian right. Then go forward and quit you like men. For those Greeks are brave warriors.”

He paused before the King, who sat on a rude throne placed upon the summit of a hillock of sand from which he could view the battle. “Live forever, O King!” he said, saluting. “When it pleases you to order the battle joined, we are ready.”

The King glowered at him sullenly. He was sore and ill-natured after his night on the ground. “See to it that you win this battle for me, or death shall be your portion!” he said. “Let no quarter be given to those dogs yonder, who by their impudence have brought on them my wrath and have caused me weariness in sleeping out here beneath the stars!”

“I hear your words,” replied the Prince, coldly. “Rest assured that we shall win this battle or we shall welcome death.”

“Enough!” exclaimed the King. “Join battle when you please! I have no appetite for talk. I have sent for wine and will drink while you slay yonder reptile-worshipers. I do not see their godlike calf at the front. Have a care of his horns!” The King laughed at his own wit.

Again saluting, the Prince turned his horse and galloped off, followed by his staff. He saw that the enemy was also making ready for battle, and he forgot the King in the fierce joy of conflict. Placing himself at the head of his cavalry, he gave the signal for advance.

Two hundred chariots sprang forward, and the long lines of infantry moved. From the other side opposing chariots dashed out and, in a moment, the crash of colliding wheels and the shouts and screams of combatants arose. The Persian cavalry rode at a brisk trot out to the left and by a wide circuit came in upon the right flank and rear of the Egyptians, scattering the Arabs who vainly sought to oppose. Along the whole front, two miles or more in extent, the battle was joined. The sky was filled with darts. The sun, springing up from the east, flashed upon sword and spear and upon struggling men who stabbed and slashed and reviled and cursed each other. The Aryan right as ordered stood still. But the Greeks of the opposing line came forward to the assault, like a moving wall prickly with spears, their fair, eager faces ablaze with the light of battle; and as they came on they shouted to Phanes daring him to come and meet them whom he had betrayed. Slingers and archers pelted them as they advanced; but, partially covered by their big, round shields, they did not halt. The Persian and Medean infantry was not terrified, but prayed the captains for leave to charge. The presence of the King, in whose sight they must do or die, nerved the Aryan soldier for the contest. When the Greeks arrived at the base of the sand-dunes, the King, disregarding the orders of the Prince of Iran, directed his infantry to charge, and the men sprang forward and down upon the Greeks with spears at rest. Then was shown the splendid discipline of these mercenaries of Psammenitus. They met the living wall of men rolling down upon them with firm, up-thrusting spears. The shock was terrific. The lines swayed back and forth. The longer spears of the Greeks gave them the advantage. Unable to reach their enemies, the Persians impotently struggled against the iron hedge and were thrust back. Cambyses observed the contest with alarm. He sent in his own body-guard to aid the hard-pressed infantry. But the Greeks moved steadily onward. Their phalanx could not be pierced. They seemed invincible. They surmounted the hills. But here the uneven ground broke their formation somewhat and enabled the Persians to press in and come to close quarters.

Cambyses was no coward. He stayed with his guard, but he began to cast about for aid. He saw the long, swaying lines of men to his left, where the allies fought with the fierce Ethiopians. He observed the mixed and tangled wreckage of struggling horses and men where the chariots had met. Looking beyond, he saw the dense mass of Persian cavalry, led by the Prince of Iran in person, on a magnificent white horse, wheeling about upon the rear and right flank of the Egyptians, driving back a cloud of Arabs. He watched the cavalry come thundering down upon the rear of the enemy, bringing terror and confusion. Psammenitus, who was mounted on a fleet dromedary, also saw the coming destruction and, terrified, fled from the field at full speed. The Ethiopians, trodden down and overthrown by the heavy Persian horse, lost courage and quickly became a mob. The savage allies of the Persian line hewed them down without mercy. In a very short space of time none but the Greeks were left to present any resistance. Their captains, seeing that the battle was lost, ceased the forward movement and sought to form their ranks in a square. Surrender was not considered, for the hated Phanes was with the enemy. But because of the inequalities of the ground, they were not able to form before the Prince’s cavalry rode in upon them, broke through their wavering lines, smote them with maces, hewed them with swords, and stabbed them with javelins, until few were left. They stood their ground to the last and, in death, nobly redeemed their oaths to Psammenitus. So, in vast slaughter, the army of the Egyptian King disappeared, and with it fell Egypt.

CHAPTER XV
THE MADNESS OF CAMBYSES

THE King of Egypt fled on his swift dromedary, while the men who had marched with him to battle gave up their lives in his behalf and a red riot of slaughter stained the desert sands. The Persian cavalry, now unhindered by any organized resistance, carried death to the despairing, panting fugitives who fled from the contest. The Egyptian army was annihilated. Barely did the King himself enter his city of Memphis and close its gates ere the Prince of Iran, at the head of a picked body of men on horses almost spent with rapid going, appeared and demanded his surrender. The vast array of invaders soon spread over the fertile valley of Egypt and shut the king so closely within his city-walls that no succor could enter and only hope could flee. Psammenitus, unable to face a hero’s death, bowed to the power of the King of Kings, surrendered into his hands his crown, and acknowledged him as lord. He took his place with other captive kings at the table of his master and ate in bitterness of spirit the bread of peace.

Victory having come to him easily, Cambyses became puffed up and arrogated to himself divine attributes. Secretly his heart was eaten with envy of the Prince of Iran, the idol of the army, to whom all men attributed the great victory. As a result, the king openly slighted the Prince, relieved him of the general command, placed other officers near his own person and through them issued his orders. Leaving barely enough troops to garrison lower Egypt, Cambyses himself led a great army southward into Ethiopia; but, as he had failed to take into account the vast deserts through which he had to pass to reach that region, his army soon came to want and starvation, and half of the soldiers composing it died of disease and privation. Had not the Prince of Iran asserted his prerogatives, assumed command of the garrisons of Egypt, and gathered a great caravan which he sent to the King’s relief, the remainder of the ill-fated army would have perished. Undeterred by this experience, the King sent a second expedition against the people of the oasis of Ammon and the priests of its great temple; but the whole army perished in a mighty sand-storm. He contemplated a third expedition for the reduction of Carthage and the northern littoral of Africa; but it failed because the Phœnicians refused to give the aid of their fleets against their kindred.

All of these events consumed much time. Meanwhile in Egypt the King of Kings ruled with an iron hand. He looked with suspicion upon everybody. Knowing that he was loved by none, he filled his court with spies that he might detect any who would dare even to whisper against him. He blotted out in the blood of Psammenitus and his relatives an incipient revolt of the Egyptians, who, encouraged by the vast misfortunes that had befallen the army of their conqueror, dared to dream of liberty. He derided the Egyptian gods, closed their temples and made granaries of them, and slew the sacred bull, Apis, with his own sword. His jealousy led him to murder many of his own officers. Some of the most valiant men of the army upon slight pretext were arrested and executed summarily; others were found dead from the stabs of hired assassins.

The Prince of Iran now habitually wore a coat of mail beneath his tunic, and to it he owed safety twice from the weapons of assassins. Once in the night, as he walked alone in the garden of the palace occupied by him as headquarters, a man leaped upon him and drove a javelin into his back, almost hurling him to the earth, but, owing to the mail, only bruising him. The assassin escaped. An arrow, shot from the shadow of a deserted temple as he rode by, slightly wounded his left arm and rebounded from the mail on his body. Again the assassin escaped. Thereafter Gobryas and other officers insisted that the Prince keep a powerful body-guard around him; and the King, having been informed of the attempts on his life, could not reasonably object.

One day shortly after King Cambyses had departed on his expedition against Ethiopia, the Prince walked alone in the garden surrounding his dwelling in Memphis, examining with much interest the flowers and shrubs growing there. He had no duties to perform. Others administered the civil offices. Five thousand only of his own troopers were in the city under his command; and except to watch them drill and see that they were fed, he had nothing to do. His thoughts were of Athura and of the many messengers he had dispatched to the east in search of her. Presently as he drew near to the street-gate, he noticed a beggar sitting by the gate apparently resting and asleep. He glanced at the man, whose countenance was that of a Hebrew, and was about to turn away, when the beggar opened his eyes and at once prostrated himself with his face in the dust.

“Live forever, O friend of God!” said the beggar. “Do I indeed behold the mighty Prince of Iran?” He spoke in the Medean dialect.

The Prince answered: “You have said who I am. What do you wish?”

“I bear a message.”

“Arise and deliver it.”

The man arose and, taking from his tunic a small packet, delivered it to the Prince, at the same time ejaculating with a deep sigh of relief: “Praise be to the God of Abraham! I have kept my word to the Prophet!”

The Prince tore off the wrappings and unfolded a sheet of papyrus, on which was written in a hand he well knew:

“To my beloved, the Prince of my Soul, greeting:

“The bearer of this letter is to be trusted even as his master, the one who met you on the banks of the Choaspes and showed you the spirit of your ancestor, is to be trusted. He will tell you many things of me. He cannot tell how much I long to be with you or how my heart is sick with anxiety for your safety. How long are the days! How lonely the nights! But lest the one whose shadow darkens the world should pursue me or injure you, I have long kept silence. Now I must hear from you. I have promised the messenger great rewards and I know that you will make good my promises. Send him back to me quickly, for my soul is exceedingly weary and sick with waiting for word from you. Farewell, beloved!”

The missive was unsigned, but the Prince knew from whom it came. His heart leaped with such joy that he became dizzy and he staggered like a drunken man. Recovering his usual calm demeanor with a mighty effort, he said: “Though in the guise of a beggar you come, son of Abraham, yet do you appear to me as an angel of light, bringing joy to my soul such as I have not felt for many sad days! Know you the writer of this? Have you seen her lately? How is she? Speak, man! Great shall be your reward!”

The man’s face shone with joy. The gladness he had brought to this great one of earth was infectious. He arose and stood in humble attitude.

“Great Lord,” he said. “I have not seen this star of the morning for three months, having come hither by a long journey; but, when mine eyes looked upon her as I started to come hither, they were blinded by the light of her eyes and I shaded them before the majesty of her countenance. Like a rose of Sharon is she! Like a cedar on Lebanon stands she, strong and beautiful! The music of her voice is as the song of many waters and loveliness enshrouds her as the darkness enshrouds the moon! Behold, are not all men her slaves? They upon whom she deigns to smile would cast themselves to the lions if she commanded, or would fall upon their own swords if she wished. She is well, but she is not happy; for she speaks much of my lord, the Prince of Iran, and sighs because she sees him not.”

“Where is she?”

“She is with the prophet of God, the great Daniel, known to you as Belteshazzer, in an oasis of the desert of Arabia. The sons of the desert are kindred to the prophet and they dwell happily and safely together. None except I and her two maids know who the royal maiden is. Most happy am I to enjoy the trust of the great master!”

“Then she escaped, indeed! O thou glorious life-giving Spirit, Ahura-Mazda, I thank thee!”

The Prince raised his eyes to the blue vault of heaven and removed the helmet from his head. The Hebrew watched him sympathetically; then, as the Prince turned to him again, he said, “Yes, Great Lord, she escaped from the palace at night and rode on a horse to the rock known as Behistun on the road to Susa. There my master, moved by the spirit, met her and took her with him into the desert ten days’ journey west of Babylon, where in all honor and safety they have kept her. I am requested to bear to her again a message from you, if it please you to give me one. Her message was unsigned and bore no words by which its meaning would be known, had I fallen into the hands of the King. But I can discourse to you of her. The prophet sends to you greeting, with words of good cheer. He bids me say that the times and seasons are changing rapidly and that great events will happen presently, in which you will have large part.”

“Come, then, into my house, servant of Belteshazzer!” said the Prince. “You shall have great rewards. You shall be fed and clothed and be given riches beyond your dreams. We will spend the remainder of this day in converse of her and of her great protector.”

The Prince led the way into his dwelling, and there his servants hurried to bathe and dress the messenger and to set before him victual and drink. And while he ate, his royal host sat near, plying him with questions. It was a great day in the life of Eleazer, the scribe, servant and confidential friend of Belteshazzer, the prophet of God. In the years to follow, when his host had become the mighty King of Kings, he never tired of relating this interview to his sons and to his son’s sons, and how the gracious Prince had talked familiarly with him as with a friend.

Three days later, escorted by a strong body of Persian cavalry, he returned by way of Damascus to Babylon, loaded with riches. At Babylon he left his escort, resumed his disguise, and went into the desert, bearing with him a message from the Prince of Iran to Athura. This related the giving of the King’s consent to their marriage and advised her that it would be safe for her to go to Persepolis and there dwell in seclusion with his mother, under the guardianship of King Hystaspis, who had returned there, until the close of the present campaign. Then he would come and marry her, and thereafter defy Cambyses.

Weary of the tent-life of the desert, she prevailed upon Belteshazzer to go with her to Persepolis. Here he and the philosophical King of Iran spent many happy days in study and learned dispute, while she, protected from danger by a strong guard of the King’s own men, resided in comfort and safety, waiting with patience the coming of her chosen one.

Meanwhile the King of Kings, having suffered the severe reverses of fortune before mentioned, had abandoned himself to drunkenness and debauchery. His evil temper, aggravated by his reverses, was ungoverned. On the slightest provocation, he slew servants with his own hands or caused them to be cruelly tortured. If his spies or favorites mentioned unfavorably an officer or soldier, death, often accompanied by tortures, such as flaying alive, impaling on stakes, or dismemberment, was inflicted upon the unfortunate accused. He even dared seize and execute several noble Persians, thus carrying into effect his jealous resolve to reduce their haughty spirits. Finally a day came, when a dreadful murder forced to action a conspiracy among prominent Persians to dethrone him.

Cambyses and his sister-wife were at dinner, when the King, after alluding to her sad countenance, derisively said to her: “You are like these other proud, upstart Persians, moping about with disapproving countenance! They shall all learn to bow the knee and to fall on their faces in the dust before me, or they shall die! Who am I that I should bear with them? I swear by Ahriman, that I will arrest every Persian officer; and on the morrow twelve shall die, on the day after twelve more shall die, and on each succeeding day a like number, until they are finished!”

He banged his great fist down upon the table before him. His sister was greatly moved. Her state of health was such that she was extremely weak and nervous. Her face was white and her eyes were full of horror. The half-drunken King, noticing her look of repulsion, was infuriated, and, calling her a vile name, shouted: “What? Do you also defy me? Speak, craven, ere I tear out your tongue!”

The spirit in the child-woman suddenly blazed up and, arising from the couch where she had been reclining, she stood before the brute with clenched hands and flashing eyes.

“Murderer!” she cried. “You have abandoned all good! You are all evil! You foully murdered Bardya! You have driven Athura to her death! You have dishonored me! Would you murder all the Aryan race? Are you a Persian? Or are you a devil?”

For a moment Cambyses was too dazed to speak. Never had any one addressed him thus. Lashed to insane fury by her words, he sprang up with stuttering curses, knocked the frail woman down, and jumped upon her prostrate body with his feet, stamping and crushing her into insensibility. The servants screamed, and some of them endeavored to prevent him; but he drew a dagger and stabbed one to death, wounded another, and drove all out of his presence. Then, recovering his senses somewhat and stricken with remorse, he knelt at the side of his sister and wept aloud. He then called for his surgeons and bade them save her or die. They tried faithfully to restore her to consciousness, but without avail. She died within the hour.

This horrible crime soon became known among the Persians. There were then encamped near Memphis about fifty thousand men, the remnant of the Aryans who had followed the King into Egypt. Conferences were at once held among the Persian officers and it was decided that Cambyses, being insane, should be deposed. The Prince of Iran had no part in these deliberations. With Gobryas and a body-guard, he had gone to visit the nearest pyramids and had been absent several days. Spies duly reported to the King the discontent of the army. On the next day after the murder of his sister, the King caused the arrest of fifty of the chief officers of the army, many of them sons of the highest nobility of Iran. True to his oath, taken before his sister, he slew twelve of them and caused their heads to be hung on the gates of the city with an inscription warning all traitors of a like fate. At once there was a vast uproar. The Aryan troops arose in a mass and marched into Memphis to seize the King. A bloody battle took place in the gardens of the King’s palace, in which the King’s body-guard was cut in pieces and its remnants driven into the palace, where behind heavy gates and doors they pantingly awaited death. Prexaspes commanded the body-guard and made a brave defense. But the veteran Persians and Bactrians were not to be repulsed. They were about to batter down the palace gates, when the Prince of Iran arrived. Immediately the infuriated men raised a roar of welcome and thrust upon him at once the chief command, begging him to lead them and to allow them to set him up as King.

The King was not deficient in physical courage. Sobered at last by the awful results of his fury in the murder of his sister, and caring little what the end of this revolt might be, desperate and savage, ready to fight to the end, he paced back and forth behind the battlements surrounding the roof of the great palace wherein he was besieged, and glowered sullenly down upon the raging mob below. Prexaspes came to him, ostensibly for orders but really to advise that overtures of peace be made. To him the King said rabidly: “What! Will you turn against me also? Why not go down and join those? Perhaps they will honor you! Saw you not that Prince of Iran out yonder? I thought I saw him ride up. Even now, if I mistake not, he stands yonder in the midst of his officers planning how best to take me. Bring up a dozen of the best archers. Him at least shall they slay!”

Prexaspes shook his head impatiently, and, while keeping his eye on the King lest the latter might attack him, he said harshly: “Have I not said that the Prince of Iran is oath-bound to you? He alone can save you this day! Would you slay the only man who can call off those wolves yonder? It is madness to slay him. We shall be torn limb for limb if he save us not!”

The King did not answer immediately. He watched the movements of the mob with tiger-like eyes. He saw Prince Hystaspis pass slowly through the mob and observed that the officers were also passing back and forth shouting orders. He saw the men falling in with orderly precision and, in a few minutes, that the mob had become an army. Company after company formed in the open garden and the adjacent streets, until on all sides of the palace a solid cordon of men stood at rest with officers duly advanced before them. Prexaspes waited impatiently for orders, but the King only ordered wine to be brought.

The Prince of Iran had said to the officers who were directing the mob: “Captains of Iran, I am grieved to the heart! Never before have the Aryans turned on their King in this manner and assaulted his high Majesty! But the provocation has been great! Nevertheless, if the Aryans rule the world, they must obey their kings! By your act you have forfeited your lives and under the law are as dead men! I will go to the King and seek his pardon for you and for those he now holds in prison. Speak to the men and say that I, the Prince of Iran, their commander, order them to desist until I go to the King and return!”

Up spoke a grizzled veteran, who had campaigned with Cyrus: “O most beloved Prince, go not to the King! Does he not hate you? Has he not without cause murdered his brother and his two sisters? Why do the heads of our comrades hang on yonder walls? By the great God, we have sworn that he shall release the others or die! He is a madman, and it is no treason to dethrone him. Go not to him! He will slay you also!”

The Prince looked upon the rugged face of the speaker with love, but he said reprovingly: “I know your heart, Arbax; but you forget that he is the son of Cyrus, the Great King. What of me? Have I not suffered at his hands? Yet do I counsel obedience. Will you not be guided by me?”

“Always and forever!” answered Arbax. “But is it not just to demand that he release our officers as well as pardon the men?”

“It is just. If he refuse, then indeed is he mad and you do well to take him from the throne. I will go to him demanding this. Will you abide the result?”

A common assent was given by all. Only Gobryas, whose soul was bitter because of the death of Artistone, exclaimed: “Prince and brother, let me carry this demand to the King, and you remain here! If he refuse our request, or slay me, it will matter little. There may be no need of further rioting! Let me go in your stead.”

But the Prince shook his head. To send Gobryas meant to send death to the King, as the latter, he knew, was in a mood to slay the monster who had crushed the life out of the woman he loved.

“Have patience, my brother,” said the Prince. “The state is above all else. Shall we slay our King and plunge the whole world into anarchy? Every subject nation would revolt. We are in the midst of our enemies and far from home with a weakened army. Terror of the King of Kings lies heavy upon the subject-peoples. It must not be removed now. No, the time is not ripe! Iran must be prepared to set up another King before throwing down this one. The King will see the justice of our demands.”

Another captain spoke up, voicing the decision of all: “We will obey you, as our commander. But our brothers must be released and pardon extended to all. If you return not in one half-hour with their pardon, we storm the palace and slay every man therein. We swear it!”

“We swear it!” echoed all.

“Do as you say!” answered the Prince. “But I will return. Fear not for me! One higher than I goes with me. Remain here and let the men not move from their places.”

He departed at once to the palace-gate, and, to the guards peering forth from loopholes at its sides he commanded: “Open! I go to the King, bearing peace!”

The door was swung back to admit him. The guards had expected only death at the hands of the savage men who stood around the palace in silent, menacing attitude, and peace they greatly desired. The Prince was conducted to the roof, where he found Prexaspes and the King. The latter had seated himself at a small table and was drinking wine. He turned to the Prince, who was startled at the sight of his haggard face, his bloodshot eyes, and trembling hands—trembling, not in fear, but from nervousness and debauchery. The King’s voice was full of bitterness and hate, as he said: “Prince of Iran, I bid you welcome! Your eyes are doubtless glad to behold your King at the mercy of yonder rabble! What come you for? My crown?”

The Prince saluted the King gravely and looked down upon him with ill-concealed disgust and pity. He said in cold, measured tones: “King of the World, the day has come when even I am unable to restrain the soldiers of Iran. Those men and their fathers made your father King of Kings, King of the World, the Great King. They have added Egypt to your empire. How have you rewarded them? Think you that without these Aryans and their officers whom you have imprisoned, you could sit here in safety one day? Not so! These Egyptians, these Syrians and Babylonians, serve you not because they love you, but because they fear our soldiers. Are you mad? Why have you given yourself over to murder and debauchery? Why have you forsaken your God and allied yourself with the vile Magi? I speak plainly but loyally. I am oath-bound to support you, but I swear that unless you now be advised by me, I will do nothing to save you from these men, who thirst to avenge the blood of Bardya, of Artistone, and of these others you have slain without just cause!”

The King’s face grew purple with rage. He sprang to his feet and half-drew his sword. But his eyes, looking into the eyes of the Prince, saw in them a fierce, savage light and a compelling gaze that drove him back to his seat. He dared not lift his hand against this man. A chill of abject fear ran through his body; and he saw, as if by revelation, a hideous chasm opening before him. Into that chasm of present and eternal destruction he had been about to leap. He drew back and shudderingly covered his face with his hands. His nerves were unstrung by debauchery and by his fearful crimes. He had come to a place where, in the face of death, he realized how evil his life had been. It was true, as he now acknowledged to himself, that the position he held was due to the men he had slighted, insulted, imprisoned, or murdered. He was silent a moment, and as he sank back upon his chair he weakly passed a hand across his eyes and said: “What do you advise? Your words are true! I have been mad, but now I am restored to reason and I see clearly.”

The Prince was surprised. He had not expected such sudden change. He thought rapidly, not only for the present safety of the King, but for the good of the Aryan race. A friendly, cordial note sounded in his voice, as he answered: “Be advised by me, O King! Put away from you the Magi. Put aside these Medean favorites. Surround yourself with men of your own race and fill the high offices of the empire with its nobility. Renounce the witchcraft of the fire-worshipers and proclaim to the world the rule of Ahura-Mazda. Pardon the men in rebellion and release all prisoners. Bestow compensation upon the widows and relatives of those you have slain. Then will the people of Iran support you and yours on the throne forever. Then will your reign become truly great and glorious!”

The King remained silent a long time after the Prince ceased speaking. A good impulse stirred within his heart. Life had been without happiness to him since that fatal night when he had ordered Bardya slain. Hate, envy, and malice towards the best men of his own race had filled his heart. Remorse over his brother’s fate had been with him, but it was as nothing to the remorse and grief gnawing his soul over the death of Artistone, the gentle sister and wife whom he really loved. Could he ever atone? He would try.

“Let it be done as you say,” he commanded, rising unsteadily and shaking himself as if he would shake off a horrible dream. “Prexaspes, you shall write decrees to fulfill all that our beloved Prince advises. So be it! I turn back into the old ways of my fathers. I will dismiss the Magi. I will fill all chief offices with Persians. I will dismiss my new body-guard of Medes, and you, Prince, shall furnish the new Imperial Guard and command it. Write a decree, Prexaspes, making this Prince the chief man in my empire after the King. Evermore will I be guided by his advice. The Magi must go down and back to their haunts in the hills. The temples of Ahura-Mazda shall open; and I will offer a thousand sacrifices to atone for my sins. Order the prisoners released. Write an address to be read to the army, telling of my new resolve. I will go down to the soldiers and tell them this myself!”

“Not so, O King!” said the Prince. “Let me deal with these men. Let your decrees be prepared and signed at once. I will go down, release the imprisoned officers and return to the army with them. This, O King, may be a great day for good to the Aryan race!”

“Let every order given by the Prince of Iran be obeyed,” said the King to Prexaspes.

The latter bowed low, and, followed by the Prince, departed immediately to release the imprisoned officers, and in a few moments these went forth to join the rejoicing troops. The palace gates were thrown open, its defenders marched out and departed to a distant garrison, and a new guard of Persians was placed in charge. The Prince of Iran, having secured the decrees and published them, assumed charge of the King’s affairs. Thirty days of mourning for Artistone were observed. Compensation for the death of those slain by the King’s orders and banishment of the Magi from affairs of state followed.

King Cambyses determined to return to Medea in order to complete the work of restoring to power the Persian faction. Aryandes, a noble Persian, was appointed satrap of Egypt and the bulk of the army was left with him. The King, with a guard of ten thousand Persians and an army of fifty thousand mixed troops, escorting a vast train loaded with the wealth of Egypt, marched by easy stages out of the latter country, through Canaan, along the shore of the Great Sea, to a point near Mount Carmel, where he turned towards Damascus. The curses of Egypt went with him. Her priests, under the milder rule of the sane Aryandes, then returned to her deserted temples. But so broken were the Egyptians and so strong was the Persian hold that no rebellion occurred. The Egyptian people, having learned that while the Persian King might be harsh yet his rule in the main was just, did no more than dream of revolution; and for a century Egypt slept peacefully beneath the paw of the Persian lion.

CHAPTER XVI
THE END OF OATH-KEEPING

AFTER resting some days by the sea near Mount Carmel, the King’s army moved eastward towards Damascus, passing north of Lake Chinneroth and south of Mount Hermon, through the ancient land of Bashan, and so came to the small city of Hamath near the head-waters of the Jordan.

Since leaving Egypt the King had kept himself secluded, either riding in a closed litter carried on the shoulders of stout slaves, or staying within his tent. He was gloomy and morose. He brooded much alone, and when in his darkest moods was a savage and unreasonable maniac. The Persian cavalry, of which his body-guard was composed, regarded him with ill-suppressed hatred. The remainder of the army was disaffected and mutinous. A factional spirit had sprung up among the soldiers. The different nationalities and religions clashed. Especially did the Aryan monotheists despise the worshipers of many gods and the devil-worship of the Magi. Only the strong hand of the Prince of Iran, for whom all had respect, could repress disorder and enforce discipline.

The King halted a day at Hamath and allowed the army to rest before entering the desert road for Damascus. The Prince of Iran mounted his favorite horse and, accompanied by Gobryas and a score of men, rode out towards Mount Hermon. As they were about to ascend the lower hills, they met a runner or message-bearer, coming down from the mountain, who, when he saw the Prince, stopped running and bowed himself to the earth. The Prince halted. He saw that the man was a Hebrew.

“Do not mine eyes behold the great lord, the mighty Prince of Iran?” asked the runner.

“I am he,” answered the Prince.

The man produced a roll from his close-fitting tunic and handed it to the Prince, who, greatly surprised, opened and read:

“Greeting to the royal Prince, Darius of Iran, son of King Hystaspis! May God have you in favor! Hearing that you are with the great army near Hamath, and having much to say of those you love well, I pray that you will appoint a time and place where I may meet you. I do not think it best to come into the King’s camp, unless you may assure me of a safe escort. My trusty servant, Joseph, will bear safely to me any message you may send. If you would visit me, he will guide you to my tent.

“Farewell,
“Belteshazzer.”

The Prince’s heart leaped with joy. Once only had he heard from the Princess Athura, and he knew not whether she had taken his advice and gone to Persepolis. Perhaps she had chosen to stay with Belteshazzer and was now with him. He handed the letter to Gobryas to read and said to the messenger: “I will go to your master. Lead the way!”

The messenger again saluted and, turning his face to the mountain, led the way with a long swinging stride, going so swiftly that the horses of the Persians occasionally galloped to keep near him. The road wound upward around the spurs of the mountain. Having surmounted a high ridge, they came at length upon a small plateau several acres in extent, from which the rugged heights went up still farther and upon which were several cedar and fir trees. At one side a dashing torrent poured out from a gulch, spread out in a swirling pool, leaped over a rocky barrier, and disappeared into a canyon. Near the pool on a grassy plot was a pavilion of dark cloth and, clustered near it, a score of lesser tents. Several horses grazed on the green before the tents, and a group of men armed with bows and spears stood near the pavilion. As the Persians drew near, a man of stately and benign aspect emerged from it and spoke reassuringly to the men, who were uneasily regarding the newcomers as possible enemies. Then he remained standing at the tent-door and waved a hand in greeting to the Prince. It was Belteshazzer. The Prince spurred his steed forward and, dismounting, hastened to Belteshazzer, embraced him affectionately, and kissed both his cheeks.

“Hail, Master,” he exclaimed. “How long it has been since I last saw you! Are you well?”

“My health is excellent, my son,” answered the Hebrew, cordially. “Glad indeed am I to behold you! Bid your men dismount. My servants shall set food before them and attend to their horses.”

He called a servant to him and gave the Prince’s retinue in his charge. Then he led the Prince into the pavilion and caused him to sit down and partake of refreshments. The Prince looked about him expectantly, but was disappointed in finding no indications that Athura was in the camp. Belteshazzer knew his thoughts and smilingly said: “She is not here, my son. When we received your letter bidding her go to your father, we considered your advice good and traveled thither by easy journeys. We were guests of your father many months. I left her there under his protection and in the love and care of your mother, when I journeyed hither. She was well. More beautiful than the morn, sweeter than the roses that bloom in Persian gardens, as pure as the snows of Demavend, she waits for you! Your father has established such a strong guard around his palace that it resembles a camp; and none go in or come out who are not known.”

“My gratitude is unspeakable, O Prophet of God!” said the Prince, fervently. “If there shall ever be any favor I may render you, it shall be rendered. Have you ever loved a woman? And know you the pain of separation from her?”

Belteshazzer sighed as he answered: “Yea, I have known the love of a wife. But she has gone before and awaits me on the shore of the river of life. Like a spring of water and a green tree in a desert, is the love of a good woman. I have much to tell you, my son; but I know you desire me to speak of her most.”

He then related the manner of Athura’s escape from the palace of Cambyses at Hamadan, and the manner of her life since. Then he gave to the Prince a large packet, containing letters from the Princess, from King Hystaspis, and from the Queen-mother.

“Now,” he continued, “having told you that which you wished most to know as a man, I must speak with you of matters of state in which you are concerned as a Prince and as the King to be. Even as you drew near, it was given me of the spirit to perceive that this day is full of mighty portent. Even now there enter men into the King’s camp bearing news that will shake the King’s soul. I have also received from trusty agents within the week great news that has traveled to others less swiftly. Evil men have seized the government of the world at Hamadan. Patatheites, the regent, has brought forth one whom he calls Bardya, the King’s brother, and has proclaimed him King of Kings. He has caused a decree to be published remitting all taxes for three years, declaring that Cambyses is a maniac and possessed of evil spirits, and ordering that he be apprehended and imprisoned. You are surprised. Well may you be. But fear not. It is not Bardya that reigns, but an impostor. He is that Gaumata whom the Great King maimed by cutting off his ears. Evil has been the life of Cambyses, but not so evil as are the lives of those men who have usurped power.”

The Prince uttered an exclamation of wonder and incredulity.

“But is Bardya dead? How knew you this? How can that Gaumata hope to impersonate him long?”

Belteshazzer smiled and remained silent for a moment. His eyes were fixed as if looking within, and he assumed a listening attitude, as one might in revery. Presently he spoke softly and dreamily:

“Yea, I see them even now sitting in a room of the great palace! Patatheites paces up and down, his pale, sharp countenance wreathed in a triumphant smile. Gaumata, the earless one, sits on the throne, uneasy and afraid. He wears a turban low down on his head after the fashion of the Arabs, but it is to conceal his lack of ears. He resembles Bardya, but he is Gaumata. He has shown himself to the people, who have acclaimed him. He awaits uneasily the return of messengers sent to all parts of the earth. In him the Magi triumph and Ahriman, that old serpent, the devil, rules. God is forgotten. As I said, even now there run into the King’s camp at Hamath the emissaries of the false Bardya. They are proclaiming the decree aloud to the wondering soldiers. They are distributing copies to all who can read. A mighty spirit of unrest broods over the army!”

He paused and Prince Hystaspis sprang to his feet, exclaiming: “Then there is need that I return to the army at once! It loves not the King. But is Bardya truly dead, O Prophet of God? Out of all your divine wisdom assure me of this. Direct my course. Tell me of the future. Not while I live shall the usurper throw down the seed of Cyrus from his throne!”

He paused. A tremor passed over the face of Belteshazzer, and with half-closed eyes he continued the low, even-toned words of the seer:

“My son, Bardya is dead! He was slain by Prexaspes in pursuance of the King’s command. A sword-stroke from behind, as they rode northward out of Hamadan, was given by the Mede, with such power that it cleft the Prince’s head to the eyes. Have no doubt of this. I have seen it in visions and heard it of the spirit. What of the future? I see Cambyses dead! I see raised on high one with the countenance of Darius, son of Hystaspis, like an eagle; and he looks at the sun and spreads his wings over the whole world. More I cannot see. God does not decree all things; but He brings to pass that which He does decree. He controls not the wills of men, nor forces them to do good or evil. But in accord with His mighty purpose, He ordains that you, O son of Hystaspis, shall rule the world; and it shall come to pass! Fear not! Go forward! Cast down the liars of earth and those that delude the people to their hurt, idolaters and worshipers of earthly things! Restore again the altars of God. With great power shall you rule and give peace and justice to the peoples of the earth.”

“But it is not required that I raise my hand against Cambyses?”

“No. It is not required. The King is his own avenger.”

“Come with me, beloved Master. I need your advice and guidance.”

“I will come to you at Hamadan in due time, my son. Now I go down to Jerusalem to encourage my people. When you come to your high estate, remember my people, who languish in foreign lands. The Great Cyrus decreed their return, but died before it could be accomplished. Let them return and rebuild the temple of God and live happily beneath the shadow of the King of Kings.”

“I swear to you, O Belteshazzer, it shall be done! Your God is my God. Is is not so? Your people shall be even as the Aryans, favored of me, when I sit on the throne.”

“Yea, it is so. God is a spirit. Ahura-Mazda, the good spirit, is the same as Elohim. Have we not so decided, your father and I, in discourse by the Pulwar? Truly your father is a man of knowledge!”

“He sat at the feet of Zoroaster in his youth. Has age touched him and my mother harshly?”

“No. Their eyes are undimmed. Their hearts are young. Age but puts wisdom into them.”

Many other questions, of his home, of his parents, and of Athura, asked the Prince. Servants having spread a lunch beneath an awning before the pavilion, he and Gobryas sat down with Belteshazzer and refreshed themselves. It was an inspiring scene. To the west and north were the rugged spurs and ridges of Mount Hermon. Below and to the east was the great plain spreading out towards Damascus and Edom. The sparkling cascade with its soft rush of waters, the song of birds, the brilliant sunlight over all, were elements of an impression on the mind of the Prince that he never forgot. From this point he set out to seize the throne of the world. Convinced that the great prophet spoke truly, he now set his gaze on the greatest place of power in all the earth and went steadily towards it. But he did not linger here. With the blessing of Belteshazzer ringing in his ears, he hastened back to the army.

As he rode into camp, he saw evidence of excitement and turmoil. His ten thousand Persians composing the body-guard were standing in battle-array, in a hollow square around the King’s pavilion, with officers pacing back and forth at the several fronts in gloomy silence. A vast concourse of men was gathered near around a speaker, who, mounted on a chariot, was haranguing them. A roar of voices arose as the speaker paused and pointed towards the Prince and his party.

“Long live Bardya! Down with Cambyses! Hail to King Bardya! Slay the murderer of his sister! Death to the tyrant!” were some of the shouts that came to the Prince’s ears. He paused but an instant to listen. Then, riding up to one of the officers of the guard, he demanded, “What means this?”

“Praise God you have come!” answered the officer, joyfully. “Now we shall know what to do. Messengers have come from Damascus bearing copies of a decree from Bardya, the King’s brother, announcing that he has assumed the throne of the King of Kings and has been crowned at Hamadan. He decrees that Cambyses be seized and brought to him so that he may be punished for the murder of the King’s sister; and he also promises peace and remission of taxes. Here is a copy. We of the guard knew not your pleasure, whether we should defend King Cambyses or deliver him as a prisoner to your hand. So we have surrounded the King’s pavilion and are ready to do your will.”

The officer presented a roll of papyrus to the Prince, who quickly read it. Then the Prince directed all the officers to come before him and said:

“Men, as to this report that Bardya has set himself up for King, I know that Bardya is dead and he who is set up on high is an impostor. The liars of the hills have done this thing, having heard of the King’s decree that they shall be cast down from their places. Order the soldiers to remain steadfast and resist those men who have stirred up mutiny. Say to them that I, their Prince, have spoken, and my word they must obey. No impious hand shall be laid upon Cambyses, the King!”

The officers were amazed. But they doubted not the words of their commander, and went along the lines, repeating to the excited soldiery his words. He, dismounting, went alone into the King’s pavilion. A trembling slave announced him to the King and admitted him to the presence. He found Cambyses pacing back and forth in great agitation.

“Ha!” exclaimed the King, “you have returned! I thought you too had turned from me. How is it that rebellion has broken loose in this camp? Are you not commander? You shall answer for it with your head! But perhaps you come to tell me that I am a prisoner! And you will put me in chains and take me to Bardya!”

The Prince saluted gravely and stood with uncovered head. “I come to assure you that the Guard and I intend to defend you against any attack,” he said. “Is it your order that we arrest the mutineers and punish them?”

The King paused in amazement. He was incredulous and shaken. He could not believe that this man, who had suffered such wrongs at his hands, would not seize him and carry him to Bardya. He believed that Prexaspes had been faithless in executing his order to slay Bardya and that the latter had seized an opportune time to appear and claim the throne. His army in mutiny, what chance had he to regain his lost throne? He passed a trembling hand uncertainly over his haggard face.

“I am mightily shaken,” he said nervously. “The words of a sorcerer ring in my ears. He said that I should die at Hamadan. I thought you had come to seize me and carry me thither to death. I thought Bardya dead! Prexaspes so reported. Where is this Prexaspes? Let him be brought hither!”

He jerked a cord connecting with a bell in the servants’ quarters. A servant instantly appeared.

“Send Prexaspes hither!” commanded the King.

They waited in gloomy silence until Prexaspes came. There was a mocking light in the Mede’s dark eyes and a perceptible sneer on his face as he met the King’s savage gaze. He bowed low to both the King and the Prince.

“Hark you!” exclaimed Cambyses. “Hear those cries! They acclaim Bardya King! Did you not swear to me that my brother was dead?”

“I did swear, O King!” answered Prexaspes, coolly. “Here was my authority to slay him.”

He drew a paper from his tunic and deliberately handed it unrolled to the Prince, who glanced at it. It was the order of King Cambyses to slay Bardya. The King’s face grew livid with wrath.

“Thus commanded,” continued Prexaspes, “I rode with Bardya along the Rhages road after leaving the hall where the King gave a feast in his honor. I returned and reported that I had slain Bardya with a sword-stroke from behind. But he died not, it seems. Why should I have the blood of kings on my hands?”

The Prince studied the Mede’s face with growing rage. The latter’s bold gaze fell before the accusing fury of the Prince’s eyes. The King seemed speechless. The Prince smote his hands together, and burst forth: “By the living God, you both deserve the death of murderers! Why should I interfere with the wrath of God? You lie, Prexaspes! I know the truth!”

He cast the order at the King’s feet and without ceremony turned and left the tent. The King turned upon Prexaspes with maniacal fury.

“Villain! Dog!” he screamed. “Why show that order? You know that my only hope depends on the Prince! Now you have turned him from me! You shall be skinned alive! Your heart shall be cut out and given to swine! You shall hang on a stake!”

Prexaspes laughed and snapped his fingers in the King’s face.

“I fear you not, foul beast!” he shouted. “Your day has come, as comes the day of every villain, whether crowned or not! Am I to die? I know it. I read death in the eyes of the Prince. I also read your death there, son of Ahriman! Listen! You slew my son, in cruel sport, one day. The arrow that cleft his brain killed my loyalty to you. I know a lingering death awaits you at Hamadan or I would myself slay you now!”

For a moment the King was so astonished as to be speechless. Then, roaring inarticulate curses, he sought for his sword. But it was not at his side. He rushed about the tent searching for it. Prexaspes, laughing derisively, disappeared through the rear door. The King presently found a long dagger in a pile of armor and with it rushed out after Prexaspes. But though he searched through the servants’ quarters, he did not find him. He returned to his pavilion and after pacing back and forth a moment went out in front of his quarters, uncertain what course to pursue.

A vast mob of soldiers, waving arms and shouting maledictions upon Cambyses, was moving down upon the Persian square. The Prince of Iran was mounting his horse, while several orderlies were galloping along the tense lines of the Guard delivering orders to the captains. A squad of cavalry under Gobryas was marching towards the King’s tent.

“They come to arrest me!” muttered the King. “But I shall not be taken alive! Prexaspes lied. My brother lives and the world turns to him. He will surely slay me, knowing that I ordered him slain. If I die, I will die as a King!”

A sudden high resolve entered his soul. He went back into the tent, placed the crown and tiara, which he wore on state occasions, on his head, threw over his shoulders a long purple cloak, composed his countenance to a calm dignity, and, with the long, keen dagger in his hand, again went forth. Gobryas and his troopers, who were under orders to place the King in their midst and to cut their way out and escape with him should the Guard be unable to repulse the expected attack, opened up to let the King pass through. The Prince was riding towards the mob intent on a parley before the necessity of bloodshed should come. The King passed through the ranks of the Guard and halted at ten paces in front. The leaders of the mob, seeing him, suddenly halted at a hundred paces’ distance and fell silent, astonished at the appearance of the terrible Cambyses. The Prince, turning to investigate the cause of the mob’s action, saw Cambyses look a moment at the low, western sun and around at the sky and distant mountains, and at last turn his burning eyes upon the hostile faces of his subjects. Then, with a swift motion, the King elevated the gleaming dagger and plunged it into his own chest. A cry of horror involuntarily rose from the throng. The King swayed, his knees bent, and he fell prone upon the earth. The Prince, realizing what the King had done, turned upon the mob and shouted: “Back to your tents, scoundrels! You have slain your King! Back, I say, before I let loose the Guards upon you!”

An immediate backward movement of the mob took place, and it melted away in awed silence. The Prince rode quickly back to the King, and, assisted by his officers, carried the injured man into the tent. Surgeons were called, the dagger removed, and the wound bandaged. The blade had failed to reach the heart, but had passed through a lung and inflicted a fatal wound. The shock had rendered the King insensible. Blood poured from his mouth, but he did not die immediately.

Night had fallen before the King regained consciousness. He opened his eyes and looked at the flaring lamps, as if wondering whether they were torches in the underworld, and at the soft-footed attendants as if wondering whether they were lost souls. His eyes presently rested upon the Prince of Iran, who stood at the foot of his couch with folded arms looking sadly down upon him. Recognition arrested his wandering mind. He strove to rise, muttering feebly, “Then I am not dead!”

An attendant sought to restrain him. Blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell back with a bubbling groan. After resting a moment and clearing his throat, he said with difficulty: “Let all retire save the Prince. I am about to die. Let me die in peace.”

At a nod from the Prince, the attendants left the room. The Prince drew near to the head of the couch. The King looked up at him and spoke in weak, halting words:

“Strange it is, Prince of Iran, that you alone stand by me in death! A thousand times I have planned your death, but my hand has ever been held. I have done you wrong. But in you alone have I trusted. How is it that I have hated yet trusted you?”

The Prince shook his head. “I know not,” he said.

“But it is fate!” continued the King. “What of the future? Where now are the wise men? Where those prophets of the hills who predicted good fortune, who said that my seed should sit on the throne, who said I would conquer all my enemies and die at Hamadan? Would God that I had heeded the words of the prophet Belteshazzer, when he sought to teach me how to live rightly! Where is that Belteshazzer? I wish that he were here!”

He paused. There was a rustle of the curtain at the tent-door. It drew aside and the tall, majestic presence of Belteshazzer came into the tent. The musical, quiet voice of the prophet said, “I am here, O King Cambyses!”

Cambyses stared in amazement.

“What wonder is this?” he exclaimed. “Am I dreaming? Is this a vision? Are you that prophet, Belteshazzer?”

“I am Belteshazzer, the Hebrew,” answered the prophet. “Your life is almost ended, Cambyses. What do you demand of me?”

“I demand to know what awaits me in the future. About to die, I would atone for many grievous sins. What of the future? What of God? What of forgetfulness through eternity to come?”

Belteshazzer’s countenance exhibited both pity and sternness, as he answered, “Your time is short to atone for the grievous sins of your life, O King. The blood of many cries against you from the ground. Through long years to come, wherever your soul may wander, the evil you have done will be with you and bitterness will be your portion. But God, the great and only God, is a loving Father; and, perhaps, if you humble yourself and repent, you may at length win His forgiveness and favor. There will be no forgetfulness without forgiveness. Greatly have you sinned. Deeply must you repent.”

“Yes, I have sinned greatly,” murmured the King. “In frantic wrath I slew my sister-wife! In willful oppression I drove my sister Athura to her death—”

“She is not dead,” interrupted Belteshazzer. “She lives!”

“Praise be to Ahura-Mazda!” said the King. “Now I know what that Magian meant, when he said that a son of my sister shall sit on the throne of the King of Kings. For she shall marry the Prince of Iran. I feel upon me the spirit of prophecy! Prince of Iran, you shall be King of Kings! In the presence of Belteshazzer, I declare you my successor. Marry Athura. I give her to you. She is your wife. Thus do I atone for one sin. But that other prophet lied when he said I should die at Hamadan. For I die here in the Syrian desert.”

“Did he say Hamadan of Medea?” inquired Belteshazzer. “If not, he spake truly. For this village where you are encamped is named Hamath, which is Syrian for Hamadan.”

The King gasped. “Then he spake truly!” he said. “He was not of the Magi. He was a hermit, alone in the mountains. He reproved me one day—and he was slain. Truly have I sinned! I have slain the prophets with the sword!”

He was silent a moment. Blood choked him and he coughed. The Prince gently aided him. The King’s strength was rapidly failing. His voice was gone and he whispered hoarsely, “O that I might see those I have wronged and of them seek pardon!”

He fell silent and his eyes were partially closed. Presently he shuddered and opened his eyes wide. He half rose, stared in amazement and terror towards the foot of his couch, and raised his hand as if to ward off a blow. The Prince, following the direction of the King’s gaze, saw (or did he dream?) at the foot of the King’s couch a company of apparitions, one of which seemed to have the pallid, serious, reproving countenance of Cyrus, the Great King, another the sorrowful face of Artistone, another the fierce countenance of Bardya, while a score of others, unknown to him, seemed to come and go. Their faces were turned towards Cambyses; but, as the Prince gazed spellbound, the face of Cyrus turned towards him, his lips seemed to move, and he seemed to say: “You have kept your oath. You are free. Ascend the throne of the King of Kings!”

A gurgling shriek from the King aroused the Prince. The apparitions disappeared. Cambyses was dead.

Belteshazzer said, as the surgeons and attendants, alarmed by the King’s outcry, rushed into the room: “The King is dead. Let the body be embalmed for transportation to Pasargadæ, that he may sleep with his fathers.”

“Let this order be obeyed,” added the Prince, addressing the attendants. Then he said to Belteshazzer: “Come, prophet of God, to my tent. I need your counsel and aid.”

They left the pavilion and walked slowly to the Prince’s headquarters. To Gobryas whom they met still on guard the Prince said: “The King is dead. Let the men be fed and tell them to rest. Let the news be proclaimed throughout the camp. Send a company of men to arrest Prexaspes and bring him before me.”

He passed on with Belteshazzer. Gobryas hastened to execute his orders. He sent a squad to arrest Prexaspes, but found that the latter had escaped. The wily Mede had hastened from the camp during the confusion incident to the King’s death, and was journeying northward as fast as his horse could carry him.

Meanwhile the Prince and Belteshazzer sat at meat in the Prince’s tent and talked of many things. When the prophet arose to depart, he said: “Have great care, my son! Those men who brought the news of this false Bardya’s usurpation are likewise commissioned by the Magi to slay you. They do not dare openly harm you, but they will secretly assassinate you if opportunity offer. But fear not! Within the year you will reign as King of Kings!”

“Give me your blessing, O Prophet of God!” besought the Prince. “When I reign, you shall come to me and be my chief counselor. You shall be at the head of the college of wise men. Ease and plenty shall be yours and peace shall come to your people!”

“May the blessing of God, the Almighty, the Eternal, the Ancient of Days, rest upon you!” said Belteshazzer, solemnly, laying his hands upon the Prince’s bowed head. “Remember when you come to the throne that Cyrus promised that my people should return to Jerusalem and recover their homes and property.”

“I remember, and it shall be done. Let me send guards with you beyond the camp.”

“It is needless. I shall go as I came, without the need of guards. Farewell!”

With a smile he disappeared, and the Prince was left alone, to stand awhile in deep thought and then to pace back and forth many minutes. Presently he called his orderlies and directed them to call the chief captains into council. They soon arrived, and he greeted each affectionately. When a score of them had assembled, he said:

“I have called you together to hear the orders made necessary by the death of Cambyses, King of Kings. It has become necessary for me to depart at once to Hamadan. I take with me the Imperial Guard. I leave Alyates in command of the army. He shall see to it that the King’s body is properly embalmed. It must be buried at Pasargadæ with the other Kings. Let the army march leisurely to Damascus and there halt until the orders of the new King shall have been received. Let it be known that this army stands ready to enforce obedience to the house of Achæmenius.”

Alyates, a tall, soldierly Mede, saluted and said, “Your orders shall be obeyed, my Lord Prince.”

After other suggestions concerning the movements of the army, the Prince dismissed the council and sat down to write letters to his father and to the Princess Athura. He related what he had heard from Belteshazzer concerning the false Bardya, gave an account of the death of the King, and stated his own purpose, to march at once to Hamadan and seize the impostor. He prayed that his father would declare himself King of Kings and lead an army of Persians to Hamadan at once. These letters he entrusted to Gobryas, who, with a dozen trusty men, at once set out for Persia, riding at courier speed.

At daybreak, the Prince and his ten thousand men, in light marching order, moved quietly out of the camp and proceeded to Damascus. Thence, by forced marches, they moved across the desert towards Babylon, taking for guides trusty Arab sheiks to whom Belteshazzer had commended him. Nor could the uneasy Gaumata and the scheming Patatheites, at Hamadan, discern his movements and so lay plans to intercept him. When they heard that he had started for Hamadan at the head of ten thousand Persians, they made haste to gather together an army with which to resist him, and a portion of the army was moved out towards the fords of the upper Tigris. But the Prince and his guards came not that way. It was his plan to seize Babylon and Susa and form a junction with the Persian army which he knew would march up from Persepolis.

CHAPTER XVII
THE EARLESS KING

KING HYSTASPIS, ruler of Iran under the shadow of the King of Kings, walked leisurely through the park surrounding his palace at Persepolis and meditated upon the doctrines of Zoroaster. Student and mystic, loving rather the peace and quiet of his home than the martial camp or the ruler’s throne, he found his greatest enjoyment in his beautiful park where he might be alone. Quiet walks, dreamy hours by running streams beneath shady trees, communion with the learned and wise, and meditation on the mysteries of life and of nature occupied his leisure moments. Delightful indeed were the October days. Brown and golden were the leaves where deciduous trees made ready to cast their burdens. The evergreen of pine and fir interspersed the more brilliant colors. The sky was hazy and the sunbeams, softened by shimmering mists, had lost their great heat and vivid glare.

The King was at ease. No armor burdened him. A round felt cap with a purple band sat lightly on his massive head. His long gray hair fell in masses to the collar of his Medean cloak. His white beard touched the belt at his waist. The purple cloak, reaching from shoulder to knee, partially covered in its graceful folds the dark tunic of his under-dress. His feet were shod in boots of soft leather. In his hand was a heavy cane, with which as he walked he flicked pebbles from his path. A large shepherd dog walked at his side. Master and dog had enjoyed the park alone for a long time. But there came an interruption. The dog suddenly bounded away through the trees towards the palace, whose massive portico was partially visible through the foliage. The King stopped to observe the cause of his follower’s movements and saw a woman coming rapidly towards him, at sight of whom his countenance shone with pleasure. It was the Princess Athura. She held in her hand a roll of papyrus. Following her at respectful distance was a man in the uniform of a King’s messenger, whose dusty habit and halting steps told of a long ride and weariness.

“My brother has written me!” cried the Princess, as she drew near. “See! I have here a letter from him, sealed with his own private signet!”

“Which brother mean you?” inquired the King, with surprise.

“Bardya!”

“Is it so? What says he?”

The old man’s brow was clouded as he spoke. Not yet had he declared for the new King Bardya, though he did not suspect as yet the imposture by which the Magi hoped to retain power. He had called the nobles of Persia to a council on this matter, and the meeting would be held shortly. He had loved Bardya almost as a son and knew that the people hated Cambyses. But Bardya had not begun his reign by calling back the Persian nobles to the chief offices, nor had he banished the Magi—much to the chagrin and sorrow of the King of Iran. He listened attentively as Athura read:

“My beloved sister, Athura, Light of the World and Queen of the Aryans:

“Now that I have come forth from my place of safety in the royal mountain, Demavend, and taken upon me the crown of King of Kings, my heart goes out to you. Do you not remember how we used to talk of ruling this great empire of Cyrus together? My brother, Cambyses, would have killed me and you, could he have done so. The good priests of Mithra saved me and hid me away until the time was ripe to come forth. Of this I will tell you more when I see you.

“I have heard that you are with the royal Hystaspis at his palace in Persepolis. May peace be with him! I have sent him greetings by a suitable embassy, confirming him in all his titles and requesting him to acknowledge my rule. For Cambyses is dead. The army near Damascus has revolted from him and slain him. I know how the royal Hystaspis loves you. Persuade him, therefore, to assist me in my great task and he shall be the second man in the empire.

“As for yourself, come to me. I need you here at Hamadan to advise me. You were ever the wiser and you shall be joint ruler with me in fact if not in name. I am sending an escort to meet you at Susa. To that point, royal Hystapsis will give you suitable escort.

“Come to me. It is a command.

“Bardya, King of Kings.”

She paused and looked inquiringly into the King’s eyes. The latter took from her hand the scroll and read it himself in silence. Then he said: “If it be true that Cambyses is dead, my course is clear. Yet am I not satisfied. It seems almost inconceivable that Bardya has come back from the dead. Yet it must be so.”

He beckoned to the messenger, who had discreetly halted a score of paces distant, and asked, “Are you in the regular messenger service?”

The man bowed low till his hands touched the earth, and then, standing in humble attitude, answered, “Yes, Master.”

“How many years?”

“Ten years, Master.”

“Then you have often seen Cyrus, the Great King? Also Cambyses and Bardya?”

“Truly have I seen them, my lord, many times. I know them well.”

“Have you seen King Bardya since he returned to Hamadan?”

“Twice, but only at the public audiences. He rides not forth as formerly, because, it is said, he fears assassins.”

“How looks he?”

“The lights were dim when I saw him, but I recognized him. He has lost flesh, as if he had been ill. He used to take part in the martial sports, but does not do so now.”

“What say the people of him?”

“They praise him for the most part. He has remitted the taxes, pardoned all political offenders, and proclaimed a year of peace and jubilee. Only the old priests grumble, who are displeased because he favors the Magi.”

“You may return to the palace, where you will be entertained.”

Saluting again, the messenger gladly hastened away to the ample refreshments he knew awaited him at the palace. The King returned the scroll to Athura and sighed. After a moment’s thought, he said: “Daughter, I like not the situation. If Cambyses be dead, as here reported, then Bardya is rightfully King. But he has abandoned the ancient religion of his fathers very suddenly for the accursed superstition of those Scythian interlopers, the Magi. But his decree concerning the Magi shall not run in Iran! I have heard that some of the temples of our religion in Medea have been closed and that the altars of the fire-worshipers on the hilltops have multiplied. So changed is he in all this that I am astounded. He commands you to come to him. It is for you to decide. It may be that you can turn him back from his evil way. But I fear to let you go.”

“I am greatly troubled,” said Athura. “Bardya never was inclined to give much thought to religion. He loves sports, the army, and the hunt. His heart is easily touched. In gratitude to those who saved his life, he has granted them great privileges. All the more should I, on whom he ever leaned for advice, be near him, to lead him back if possible to the old paths. I have nothing to fear from him. It is my duty to go. But I desire your advice. You have been a father to me, and the gracious Queen, a mother!”

The King smiled. “If my son returns from Egypt,” he said, “I shall deem myself happy to acknowledge you my daughter in fact. If Cambyses is dead, there need be no more concealment or fear. I will send trusty messengers to Hamadan, Babylon, and Susa and even to Egypt to learn the truth. My son would certainly have sent messengers to me with news of the King’s death if he were dead.”

“May Ahura-Mazda hasten the day of his return! How long it has been since I last saw him!”

“If you go to Hamadan, what will be the result? Will Bardya act as did Cambyses?”

“No, a thousand times! Bardya will consent to my marriage with your son at once.”

“It may be. And yet, knowing how my son loves the truth and our ancient faith, I fear that Bardya’s new faith will cause a rupture of their friendship. Darius is an enemy of liars. Unlike me, this son of mine loves war rather than peace and has little patience with those who differ from him in opinion. Perhaps his love for you will cause him to overlook the errors of your brother. As to this letter, if you go, my blessing shall go with you; and, should you call to me for aid from the ends of the earth, I will march to you at the head of a hundred thousand Persians. If you stay here, all Iran will be a bulwark around you and my home shall be yours.”

Tears filled the eyes of Athura. Kneeling, she placed the right hand of the King on her head, saying: “I will take your blessing, my father, and go. Well do I know the love of our people. Sometimes in the bitterness of my condition I have thought of calling them to arms and throwing down from his throne the dread Cambyses. Had it not been for that oath you and your son swore to the Great King, I would have done so!”

Hystaspis bent over and kissed her forehead.

“May Ahura-Mazda, giver of all life, bless you!” he said solemnly. “May Sraosha, his powerful messenger, ever be at your right hand to convey to Him your slightest petition! May happiness in the love of a husband be yours and peace in your own home! Come, let us go to the palace and break the sad news of your going to the mother there.”

They went to the palace side by side and were met on the portico by the stately lady who ruled the King’s heart even as he kept sway over millions of proud subjects.

She sought to persuade Athura not to go to Hamadan, until more certain information of the conditions there could be had; but Athura was firm in her determination to obey the call of her brother. Therefore next day a company of cavalry escorting the Princess marched towards Susa. King Hystaspis rode with her a day’s journey.

On the fifth day after the departure of the Princess, three of the great Persian nobles, Otanes, Hydarnes, and Vomisces, resplendent in military dress and in armor adorned with bright metal and precious stones, each attended by a score of stout guards, rode over the stone bridge across the Pulwar and demanded audience of the King. A chamberlain conducted them into the audience hall, where the benevolent King sat on his throne in state. They saluted him, and Otanes said: “O King, live forever! We, your counselors, come to advise with you on grave affairs of state.”

“I am glad to behold you,” responded the King. “You are welcome. Speak on!”

Otanes drew a letter from the folds of his cloak.

“Here have I a letter from my daughter, Phædima,” he said. “She was the wife of the Great King, Cambyses, and she was taken as wife by that one who calls himself Bardya, who, having deposed Cambyses, assumed to marry all his wives. But listen! Was ever such fraud practiced upon a people? This came secretly by a messenger, a slave who owed his life to my daughter. Let me read.

“‘To Otanes, my beloved father:

“‘In much shame and agitation do I write this and will endeavor to dispatch it to you by Hyrax, my faithful slave.

“‘This Bardya is an impostor. He is not Bardya the King’s brother. When Patatheites, the regent, announced that Bardya, son of Cyrus, had returned from Mount Demavend where he had been hiding, and had declared himself King of Kings, there was great rejoicing in Hamadan, and all the people and the army gladly declared for him. The new King made a decree divorcing us from Cambyses and making all of us his wives. What could we do? It was the King’s word.

“‘But, when this man came to visit me, I saw that he could not be the true Bardya, though he resembles him much. He wore a turban after the manner of the Arabs but in such way that it covered his hair and ears. This day did I discover that he has no ears. While he slept, overcome by wine, his turban was disarranged. Then I remembered that I saw this man led away from the presence of Cyrus, who had sentenced him to have his ears cut off for some offense. His name was Gaumata and he was a wizard, a priest of the Magi. This is the man! I had no dagger or I would have slain him. We are prisoners in the palace and are not permitted to go even to the park walls. Haste, then, my father, to rescue your daughter from this foul creature! I have heard it proclaimed that Cambyses is dead, slain by his own hand in Syria. Of the truth of this I know not. My hands reach out to you!

“‘Farewell!
“‘Phædima.’”

The King was amazed. He arose from his throne as the reading proceeded and nervously pulled at his beard. When it was done, he smote together his hands in great agitation.

“Alas!” he cried. “How unfortunate that your message did not come five days ago! Then I would have kept the royal Athura here or marched with her to Hamadan at the head of an army. Only five days ago in obedience to a letter sent her by this false slave, calling himself Bardya, she departed, and even now she may be at Susa in his power! May curses rest on him! I perceive his scheme! With the last of the children of Cyrus in his power, he thinks to be safe. But not so! No time is to be lost! Let us take immediate action!”

He pulled a cord near at hand, and a gong sounded in an adjacent room. Instantly a door at the right of the throne swung open, admitting an officer of the Guard. To him the King said: “Captain Arios, take five hundred men, the best of the army in Persepolis, with the strongest horses, and ride to Susa! Ride day and night! Seize horses and supplies as you go! Overtake Captain Mardux and bring back the Princess Athura, if you can. Ride even to Hamadan if you do not find her at Susa. Send messengers in advance to overtake and turn her back. Spare not horses or men! Delay not!”

The captain, though filled with wonder at this sudden order, did not pause to ask reasons for it, but bowed low before his lord and left the room. A moment later the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the paved court indicated that he had departed.

The King turned to his counselors and said: “It is my will that the reserves be called to arms and that all the regular troops be gathered at Persepolis. We shall march without delay upon the usurper. Secrecy and swiftness must be observed. Let us seize the wretch before he may gather an army to oppose us. What say you?”

“That is my word!” answered Otanes.

“And mine!” added Hydarnes.

“And mine!” said Vomisces.

“Then let it be done! Let every able-bodied man in your several districts be called. I will send orders to the Governor of Bactra to call out the reserves and to march to Rhages with the Bactrian troops. He will bring two hundred thousand men. We should march from Persepolis with no less. I wish that my son were here! We shall need him.”

After further consultation as to details, the nobles departed. Scores of messengers, riding at breakneck speed, penetrated to distant hamlets and summoned every man of the military class to Persepolis. Stores of weapons and provisions were quickly gathered. The great plain near Persepolis quickly became populous with men and impedimenta. All Iran was stirred with the excitement of coming war; but none knew why they were called, save that it was on the King’s business.

On the tenth day two hundred thousand men stood in line on the plain near the Araxes for review, and their gray-bearded King rode along their serried ranks and saw that they were ready and eager to march. They saw that the face of the monarch was serious and filled with anxiety, and they guessed that they were about to engage in a civil war. The King did not enlighten them. A messenger had come from Captain Arios at Susa, stating that he had found Captain Mardux and his men who had escorted Athura to Susa, but that the Princess had gone forward towards Hamadan the day before his arrival. The King was disappointed and anxious. Having ordered that the march begin next day, he returned to his palace.

At sundown of that same day, Gobryas and half a dozen weary troopers arrived in the camp and after hasty greetings to the generals in command went direct to the King. The King was on his portico, reclining on a couch so placed that he could watch the glories of the setting sun, while near him sat the Queen engaged upon some needlework. Recognizing Gobryas in spite of his unshaven and dusty condition, Hystaspis rose with an exclamation of surprise and went down the steps to meet and embrace him.

“It rejoices my soul to see you, noble Gobryas!” he said. “Whence come you? What of my son?”

“Gracious King, I have come from Syria by way of Babylon and the lower roads,” answered Gobryas. “Your son was well when I, obedient to his commands, left him to come hither.”

“Praise be to Ahura-Mazda! What of the King?”

“Cambyses is dead. There is no king other than you, O King Hystaspis! I greet you King of Kings and Lord of Lords!”

He bent his knee and kissed the King’s hand. But Hystaspis raised him up, saying: “Not yet, my son! The nobles of all Iran must be consulted. We had heard rumors of the death of Cambyses, but were not sure.”

“Cambyses is dead. I saw him stab himself before all the army when messengers came into camp proclaiming Bardya King. Yea, truly he is dead and the world is better for it! As for this traitor at Hamadan, I have come direct from your son to announce that he is not Bardya but a false usurper. I perceive you have already learned his true character and are ready to march against him. I have letters from the Prince. Even now he is drawing near to Babylon with his ten thousand men of the Guard.”

He produced a packet from his belt and gave it to the King.

“Come,” said the King, leading him up on the portico where the Queen waited. “You shall be refreshed at my own table and shall stay in our palace this night. I have much to ask concerning our son and of the war in Egypt and of the death of the King.”

Gobyras bent low before the Queen, kissed her hands extended to him in cordial welcome, and said: “Queen of the World, I give you love and greetings from the Prince. Daily has he spoken of you. I bear a letter for you. I have another for the Princess Athura. But, alas! Otanes has explained to me how she has gone into the power of that Gaumata!”

The Queen took from Gobyras the packet he handed to her, and then, placing her hands on his shoulders, drew him down and kissed both his cheeks, saying: “My son’s blood-brother is my son! Welcome home! How weary you are! You shall rest in the Prince’s own apartment this night.”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE SPIDER’S WEB

CAPTAIN MARDUX and his troopers felt themselves highly honored as escorts of the highest born and most beautiful woman in the world, when they departed from Persepolis with the Princess Athura. When she chose to ride a horse, the captain knelt that she might place one small foot on his knee and thence leap into the saddle. When she chose to ride in a litter, the captain had difficulty in choosing from the many volunteers those who should be carriers. He had to be severe in denying some the right to stand guard around her tent as she slept, since all could not do so. These hard-fisted, hard-riding sons of Persia deemed themselves guardians of a goddess; and all of them were her devotees. Her journey was a pleasant pastime.

They arrived at Susa on the sixth day and were met by the governor of the city with all his chief officials. They conducted the Princess to the royal palace, where she rested a day. The city was gayly decorated in her honor. Then a company of Medean cavalry, under command of a noble Mede, relieved Captain Mardux and his men of their charge, and with them the Princess continued her journey towards Hamadan. From Susa to Behistun the road was better and the pace more rapid. On the tenth day they stood beneath the shadow of the great rock and were about to turn eastward across the mountains, when a courier met them, bearing a letter, informing Athura that King Bardya had gone to a castle in Nicæa on a hunting-trip and asking her to come to him there. Athura and her escort therefore took a road leading northerly into Western Medea. Thus it came about that Captains Arios and Mardux, pushing forward in desperate haste to rescue the Princess from the usurper, and supposing that she had gone direct to Hamadan, missed her by turning to the right at Behistun two hours after she and her train had disappeared in the northern hills. Thus it came about also that the Prince of Iran and his weary ten thousand, having avoided Babylon on the right and Susa on the left, lest they should meet with opposition and be delayed, when they reached the great highway between Persepolis and Susa and learned that the Princess had gone northward to Hamadan, delayed not to await the coming of the Persian army but also turned northward.

Athura’s heart beat high with anticipated pleasure. A decree had been published in Susa announcing the death of Cambyses in Syria and the peaceful adherence of the King’s army to Bardya. Civil war would thus be averted. Her beloved brother would doubtless call the Prince of Iran to be his chief counselor, the second man in the empire. Nothing would hinder her marriage to him. The future seemed indeed bright with promise. The Medean escort was attentive and obedient to her slightest wish. At Nicæa a second message awaited Athura, informing her that the King was at the castle of Sictachotes, a score of miles farther north, and bidding her come there. Here a new escort took charge, composed of soldiers and priests whose appearance did not at all please the Princess. She did not hesitate to go forward, however, but she resolved that she would persuade her brother to discharge from his service men who resembled robbers rather than soldiers.

It was late afternoon when they arrived in sight of the castle or stronghold of the false Bardya. The castle was an irregular pile of stone buildings on the summit of a hill, the crater of a long-extinct volcano. A small lake filled the mouth of the crater and on its rim the buildings had been constructed. At the foot of the cone and completely surrounding it was a high stone wall through which a huge brazen gate gave entrance and egress. The buildings were low and of rude architecture, except one tower which rose to a height of fifty feet and was about thirty feet square.

The Princess wondered that her brother should bring her to such an uninviting place; but, remembering his passion for hunting, she had no misgivings. The great gate swung open to admit her and her escort, and then it closed with a clang. Having ascended the hill to a level space in front of the high tower, the escort dismounted and its leader came to assist Athura to alight. But she said haughtily to him: “Go, call the King. Why is he not here to meet me?”

The officer bowed low and went into the castle, whence he presently returned with a richly dressed official who forthwith prostrated himself before royalty. “May you live forever, O gracious lady!” he said loudly. “The King is out hunting, not expecting you until the morrow. But all things are ready for you. Be pleased to alight and enter!”

The Princess then dismounted and followed the official into the castle. The room they first entered was in the base of the high tower and occupied its whole space. It was richly furnished with tables, couches, and rugs. Draperies concealed the rough walls. Athura had brought with her three maids. Several others presently appeared from side-rooms and humbly awaited her pleasure. The official, who proved to be the King’s chamberlain, having called the servants, now said: “My Lord the King will return shortly. Meanwhile, if it please you, dinner will be served here. Let the maids be disposed of in the adjoining room. Should you desire to take the air, there is a pleasant walk around the lake. If anything be needed, pull the cord at the side here and a gong will call servants. Permit me to retire and order your dinner served.”

The Princess assented and the chamberlain, with a low salaam, departed. Having bathed, and changed her riding habit to one more comfortable, she ate dinner alone. She was grieved and impatient. But she was to suffer further disappointment. For at sundown a messenger appeared who reported that a revolt had broken out in the army at Hamadan, thus compelling the King’s instant return to that city. He had departed at once, but promised to return quickly and escort her in person to the capital. He bade her rest meanwhile at the castle.

Athura was furious. It seemed strange that her brother should treat her thus. He must be indeed changed from that former bold youth who would have let state matters go to ruin rather than fail to come to her at once when so near! She rang for the chamberlain, and when that worthy appeared she inquired, “Was the King here this morning?”

“Yes, gracious lady,” he replied humbly.

“How did he seem? Was he well?”

“He seemed very well but somewhat nervous.”

“I do not understand his strange behavior! Order immediate preparations for my departure in the morning to Hamadan! I shall go to him and ascertain the cause of this neglect.”

The chamberlain raised his hands in protest. He shook his head and salaamed humbly.

“I have an order from the King, gracious lady,” he said. “It is that I safely keep you here until he return.”

“What! Am I a prisoner?”

“Ah, no! Say not so! But this is a very unsafe country,—wolves, bears, robbers, and brigands! It is not safe for you without a strong escort to go beyond the castle-walls. The escort which brought you hither has departed for Nicæa again, and only the necessary garrison is here. Very sorrowful am I, most gracious lady, but I dare not disobey orders. The King, I assure you, will come soon.”

“Listen!” exclaimed Athura, furiously. “I care nothing for the safety of this castle! I order you to prepare this garrison to march with me to Hamadan on the morrow. I will answer to the King for you and no harm shall come to you. Let the castle take care of itself!”

But the chamberlain again shook his head and wrung his hands together in simulated agitation. “Impossible, utterly impossible! The King’s orders must be obeyed. You know not this King, gracious lady! He is a magician who can destroy one, soul and body. No, no!”

“A magician! What mean you? My brother Bardya a magician? Since when gained he that power?”

But the chamberlain, seeing that he had almost revealed his master’s real identity, shook his head and continued to wring his hands, protesting: “I meant only that the King’s eyes were upon all and over all! But I cannot disobey him, and—I will not!”

He abruptly turned and left the room. Athura went to one of the narrow windows and looked tearfully out upon the yellow landscape of hill and mountain, on which the setting sun was casting its last mellow beams. Her eyes ran over the courtyard, the steep descent of hill, the high wall below with its brazen gate and its sentries, posted at intervals on the top. A great loneliness seized upon her, a cold dread of impending evil gripped her heart, and a terror of unknown forces that seemed to surround her. Turning from the window, she met the eyes of one of the maids compassionately watching her. The expression of her face caught Athura’s attention. Repressing her tears lest the servants should deem her weak, she addressed the maid:

“What is your name?”

“Lauretha, gracious mistress,” was the answer.

“Who are you and whence come you?”

“I am a daughter of the captain of the guard, and I came from Nicæa hither.”

“Tell me, whose is this castle and how came my brother here? He has been acting most unbrotherly to me. Have you a brother whom you love most dearly? And would he call you to a place like this and then not meet you, or run away to the city without visiting you?”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears. The beauty and engaging personality of Athura had already made a deep impression upon her. She had heard in the old days of this beautiful daughter of Cyrus as a very goddess of wisdom and beauty. Now that she beheld her, she was her devotee. She drew nearer and, kneeling, caught hold of the hem of Athura’s dress and kissed it.

“Gracious Queen of the World, I am but a humble girl,” she said, sobbing: “My parentage is not even noble. But I place my soul and body at your service! Let me make confession to you and I will trust in your forgiveness for my enforced service here. If you will follow me to the chamber above, where you are to sleep and where we may be alone, I will tell you the secret of your situation.”

“Arise and be assured of my good-will. I will follow you,” answered the Princess, touched by the girl’s devotion and wondering what she meant.

The girl rose and, going to a curtained door at one side of the room, pulled aside the curtain and guided the Princess up a narrow stairway, in the thick stone wall, to a chamber above and of the same size and as richly furnished as that below. Here the Princess seated herself on a divan and the girl again knelt at her feet on the floor.

“Tell me what you mean,” said Athura, kindly.

“I know the man who calls himself Bardya. He owns this castle,” said the girl, speaking rapidly. “I also have seen your brothers, both the great Cambyses, the King, and the strong, happy Prince Bardya. That was years ago when I lived in Hamadan and my father was a soldier of the palace-guard under the noble Otanes. I also know the regent, Patatheites, whom Cambyses, the Great King, left to rule in Medea. O gracious lady, it breaks my heart to tell you! But I know that Bardya, your brother, is dead and this one who calls himself Bardya is none other than Gaumata, priest of the Magi, whose ears Cyrus, the Great King, cut off! I have seen Gaumata and Patatheites together. I know that Gaumata pretends to be Bardya. The chamberlain is one of his tribe. This great tower is a fire-worshiper’s shrine and on its top is an altar on which fire is kept burning. I know not why I tell you this, except that when I look upon your face I love and worship you. O that I might save you! I fear this prison is intended to be your tomb!”

Athura sat very still during this revelation. Her head seemed to reel. The earth and all her golden castles seemed whirling and falling. Of course Bardya would have come to meet her! She knew the girl was telling the truth. Fool, to be so easily beguiled! Bardya really dead! The old sorrow resurged in her soul. Death or worse her fate! She sat still and silent a long time in wide-eyed despair while the maid at her feet with bowed head wept bitterly. Presently she sighed deeply and asked, “Why do you weep, little sister?”

“Because of your cruel fate, gracious lady,” replied the maid. “You know not the magic power of these priests! Even now they may know that I have told this to you and even now they may be preparing the torture chamber for me. They are terrible men! They deal with the demons of the hills and mountains. They sacrifice to them, even offering up human lives sometimes. They are able to read one’s thoughts. They bring up the dead and make them talk. Only Ahura-Mazda can protect you, and I know not if He will!”

“Be comforted, child,” said Athura, calmly. “Let us escape in some manner. Once before I fled from a prison when Cambyses would have slain me. Is there no way of escape?”

“I know of none. These walls have secret doors. I have seen Gaumata appear in these rooms even without opening a door. But he is a magician. I do not know the secret doors. If we could escape from this castle, the great wall and its watch is there.”

“You said that your father is captain of the guard. Might he not assist us?”

“I know not. He fears the Magi. His father was a tenant of this Gaumata who, for his faithfulness, has promised him great fortune and a high command. But he is a brave man and a good father.”

“Such a man must have a good heart. We shall talk with him presently.”

“But these magicians,—is it not useless to strive against them? They look one in the eye and point their fingers and say, ‘You are a dog! Bark!’ And that one gets down on his hands and acts like a dog and barks. Or they will say to you that at a certain hour you must do something they order; and, at that hour, you must do it! They put spells on men, and such men thereafter have no power. Oh, it is dreadful, how at night they call up and talk with the dead. The evil spirits help them.”

“I have seen their spell-working, child. But this I know, as the great teacher, Belteshazzer, said, they can do no harm to those who love truth and serve the true and only God. For He sends mighty spirits of good intent who encamp about the good and who drive away the evil ones. Fear not, child, I dread not this Gaumata and all his evil powers. He shall not harm us. When does your father have liberty so that he might come to us?”

“At sundown he changes the guard. Thereafter he may come.”

The girl went to a window and looked down into the court below. She then clapped her hands softly and motioned to some one below.

“Ah, there he stands now!” she said. “He has looked up and will come here. I will meet him.”

She ran down the narrow stair, and presently her voice and the heavier tones of a man’s voice were heard in conversation. Athura seated herself on a divan in such position that the rays of the setting sun, passing through the open window, rested upon her face and hair, giving to her regal beauty a halo like that of a goddess. A moment later the maid reappeared, followed by a powerfully built man whose helmet and breastplate were resplendent in gold and jewels. His face was strong and bold, the countenance of one accustomed to command, but now it was clouded and sullen.

“This is my father, Gustasp, gracious mistress,” said the maid, presenting him.

The man looked an instant into the eyes of the Princess. Then his hand quickly removed his helmet. Wonder, admiration, recognition, and awe expressed themselves in his countenance. He prostrated himself at her feet. He had known the kingly Cyrus and the high glance of his eye, before which the most rebellious of men had quailed; and here was the image of Cyrus, softened and beautified in the feminine, but, none the less, with his lofty, commanding spirit, gazing upon him from eyes whose glance he could not return.

“Hail, gracious daughter of Cyrus!” he mumbled, striking the rug-covered floor with his forehead. “I await your commands!”

“I have seen you before, Captain Gustasp, when my father lived and Bardya, my brother, and I played in the park at Hamadan. Is it not so? Arise and answer!”

The soldier rose and stood in deferential attitude before his fair interlocutor.

“I remember, most royal lady,” he stammered.

“If I mistake not I rode on that broad back of yours, and you made for me a right-spirited horse.”

The strong features of the soldier quivered as memory brought back those days, when he, as one of the guards on duty at the King’s palace, not only watched over the safety of the children of the King but played with them. Halcyon days! The tears started to his eyes.

“I remember,” he answered.

“And now I am your prisoner!”

Again the man fell with his face to the floor. “Say not so, Queen of the World!” he exclaimed. “Rather am I your humble slave. If you will let me speak, I will explain.”

“Say on!”

He raised his head from the floor but continued to kneel, while he spoke rapidly: “After I returned from the funeral of the royal Cyrus, I was not in favor with the Great King, Cambyses. His dislike for me arose when he and your royal brother, Bardya, and you, played together as children and, by the express order of good King Cyrus, I watched that Cambyses did not use violence upon you and the younger brother. He swore, then, that when he came to man’s estate I should die. When, therefore, the guards were called to Hamadan and dismissed by him, I fled; and, luckily, I escaped before his order for my execution could be fulfilled. I came to these mountains and was concealed by the Magian priests who had been friends of my father. Then I heard, gracious lady, that both you and Prince Bardya had been foully murdered by King Cambyses; and I wept much. For I loved you and Bardya when you were children. For me the light of the world grew dim. Wonder not, therefore, that I willingly served Gaumata when he overthrew Cambyses. Had not Cambyses slain those I loved and also sought to slay me? I did not know you when you entered here yesterday. You were veiled. My information was that the King’s wife was coming hither; and I dreamed not that you were she. May Ahriman wither my soul if I speak not the truth!”

His daughter sank upon the floor by her father’s side, exclaiming, “Truly he speaks truth, gracious mistress!”

A wave of sympathy swept over the beautiful countenance of the Princess. Impulsively she arose, bent over, and touched the man’s forehead with her hand, saying: “I believe you, my good Gustasp. Ah, those were pleasant days, the days of my childhood. But they have gone to return no more. The bloody hand of death has taken my father and brothers. Only I, of all the royal house of Cyrus, remain; and I am a prisoner to this man, Gaumata. But what now? To whom, O Gustasp, do you owe allegiance?”

The man did not hesitate. “There is only one sovereign on earth for me, the divine daughter of Cyrus!” he answered passionately. “Had I not believed you dead, I would never have entered the service of Gaumata.”

“I am in your hands. What do you advise?”

“You are safe in my hands, gracious Queen! I will guard you with my life. But I am slow of wit and not good at making plans. I can execute orders but not make them.”

Athura smiled upon the kneeling giant.

“You may arise and be seated there near the door,” she said. “Let us think of some plan. How many men have you in this castle?”

Gustasp rose and sat on a stool near the door.

“Four hundred and twenty,” he answered.

“Are they trustworthy?”

“Not against Gaumata. They are his personal followers. But they are a brave and reckless lot. Some of them have been brigands all their lives, until called hither by the new King’s order.”

“It is apparent to you, Captain Gustasp, that I am no friend of this Gaumata. I have been brought here by lying letters purporting to be from my brother, Bardya, and I knew not the truth until your daughter revealed it to me. Doubtless I have been brought here to suffer death. For, as long as one of the house of Cyrus remain, so long will the usurper be insecure on his throne. I remember Gaumata. I saw him during the last year of Cyrus and I heard of his punishment. Now has come his revenge! But I shall escape. There is one who comes from the west as swiftly as horses may bring him. Do you remember the youth who played with us in those days? That grave youth who was a man even before he was old enough to enlist in the King’s guards—Darius, son of Hystaspis, King of Iran?”

“I remember him. Has not his fame filled the whole earth? All young Aryans swear by him!”

“True! Had not Cambyses cruelly interfered, I would this day be his wife. He took an oath to Cyrus, my father, to support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones, as long as they should live. Death has released him from the oath. It may not be that I shall reign alone as Queen, since it is contrary to the customs of the Aryans. The King of Iran is now the head of the Achæmenian royal family and entitled to reign as King of the Aryans. When he shall pass the bridge to heaven, the Prince of Iran will be King. The world will then know a just and mighty master. And I shall reign with him. Then, Gustasp, I may be able to reward faithful service. Is it not possible for me to escape? I escaped from Cambyses alone, disguised as a youth. Have you not a horse that I might ride away upon this night?”

Gustasp was troubled. He gazed thoughtfully out of the window a moment in silence. The red rim of the sun was disappearing behind a distant ridge.

“This is a wild portion of Medea,” he said presently. “Brigands roam about. Traveling without a large escort is dangerous. It is now almost night. For a week there can be no danger to you here. I am in command of the Guard. It will not be so much a prison for you as a place of safety. To-morrow I will send to the hills for one who owes his life to me. I saved him from the wrath of Gaumata, who had ordered me to execute him. This man will I send with a message to your friends. He may bring help. The chamberlain of the castle is a priest of the Magi. He was in the room below as we came through. He is here as your guard, I suppose. But this night I shall sleep at the foot of this stairway and keep watch over you. You are weary and must have sleep. My daughter, if you will, shall watch with me. Perhaps to-morrow we may think of a better plan.”

Athura rose and went to the window, where she stood some moments in silence, contemplating the forbidding aspect of the darkening hills and considering the words of the captain. She was, indeed, weary. She therefore signified her assent to the suggestion, and the captain retired. His daughter remained with the Princess. The captain that night slept on the floor of the room below, with his body across the doorway leading to the chamber above and his sword at his side.

CHAPTER XIX
A GALLOPING TO AND FRO

THE dull, plodding peasants of Persia, Medea, Susiana, and Babylonia wondered why so many messengers rode at breakneck speed, on foaming, dusty horses, and so many squads of cavalry galloped, along the roads, during those last days of the false Smerdis, or Bardya, King of the World. They loved not these military men, with their over-bearing ways, their oaths and blows, their lawlessness and oppression. But they only sighed and remained silent, hoping but not believing that some day the Great King would lift them up and put the soldiers down. The shepherds on the hills drove their flocks high up into the mountain fastnesses and concealed them in gulches and ravines. For, it was whispered, an immense army of Persians was marching up from the south. No one knew why it was coming, but it was safer to keep the flocks out of sight, lest the hungry hordes should have fresh meat at their expense. Rumors of war flew about. Some said Babylonia was about to revolt; others that the Scythians were threatening an invasion.

Meanwhile at the capital city, Hamadan, confusion reigned. Reports came from Persia indicating that the King of Iran was gathering a great army. Then came messengers from the army at Damascus relating the departure of the Prince and the Guard. Patatheites and Gaumata at once became uneasy and directed the governor of Nineveh to march out and intercept the Prince. Then came Prexaspes, who, knowing that he could expect no mercy from the King of Iran and his son, offered his services to the usurper, and was made commander of the army and satrap of Medea. He advised immediate preparation for war. Decrees were issued to all the governors of provinces commanding them to assemble their soldiers and bring them to Hamadan. Heralds were dispatched to the King of Iran demanding the reason for gathering an army at Persepolis. Prexaspes personally went into western Medea, where he had large estates, and directed that all Medean levies from that section should gather at Nicæa. Then Gaumata and Patatheites, learning that their ruse whereby Athura had been beguiled into the castle of the former, had succeeded, departed from the capital city to visit her and make some treaty with, or disposal of, her. They had barely departed when Captains Arios and Mardux at the head of their combined companies rode into the capital on horses almost dead with fatigue, and at the palace gates demanded the person of the Princess Athura. The commander of the palace-guard was insolent and insulting. He even threatened to arrest the blustering captains, who thereupon suddenly assaulted the palace with their bold troopers, before the guards could be warned, and gained possession of it. The guards fled into the city and called upon the citizens for aid. Captains Arios and Mardux searched the palace in vain for the Princess Athura, but found and released the usurper’s harem, in which was Phædima, the daughter of Otanes. What next to do the captains knew not. But the citizens of Hamadan, indignant that a company of freebooters should dare to take the King’s palace, soon gave them something to do and laid close siege to them in it. They were not to be dislodged, however, and held the citizens at bay, trusting that they would presently be rescued by the King of Iran.

The Prince of Iran, having marched by a short route across northern Arabia, avoided Babylon on the right and Susa on the left and arrived upon the great highway between Persepolis and the latter city, where, as narrated, he received information that led him to march at once to Susa, intent upon aiding in the rescue of the Princess Athura. He seized Susa and deposed its governor, who was a Mede in the service of Gaumata. He paused here two days to rest and refit his command, meanwhile sending scouts northward to gain information concerning the movements of the usurper. Then a body of Persians, constituting the advance corps of the Persian army, having arrived, the Prince left a garrison in the city and with about twenty thousand men hurried northward on the road to Hamadan, intent upon capturing that city before Gaumata could prepare for resistance. On the first day out he was met by the messenger from Athura, which caused him to change his intention and march into western Medea upon Nicæa.

Meanwhile the Princess Athura remained in the castle. The messenger had been duly dispatched by Captain Gustasp, who advised his fair captive to wait patiently several days for his return or until he himself could communicate with certain relatives who might consent to conceal her in the mountains should it become necessary to leave the castle. Then one day a company of cavalry rode into the castle-yard and its commander, Captain Galutha, displayed an order giving him chief command. The next day a large body of cavalry appeared on the plain below the castle and encamped, while several of their leaders came up to the castle. Two of these, before whom all others bowed to the earth, were Gaumata, the usurper, and his chief counselor, Patatheites. The Princess Athura observed these men with dread. She recognized them and knew that a crisis in her affairs had come. Later came Captain Gustasp in much agitation.

“Gracious lady,” he said, “Gaumata has come! He desires audience with you. If he attempt any harm to you, I will slay him! So fear not. I am at your service. Shall I slay him at once?”

“No. Let him enter,” she answered, seating herself on a divan at the side of the chamber opposite the window, where the light was good and where every expression of her countenance might be seen. She was calm and self-possessed.

The captain’s daughter stood at her side, trembling and apprehensive.

A moment later the door opened and the chamberlain appeared, announcing: “Our Lord, the King, the Great King, King of the World, and his illustrious Counselor!”

Entered then Patatheites, with somewhat shuffling gait and embarrassed demeanor, a tall man whose rich habiliments and mitered head-dress indicated his priestly rank. He bowed very low and touched the floor with his hands, saying: “All hail, most beautiful Princess, Daughter of Cyrus, the Great King, Light of the World! Live forever!”

Following him came Gaumata, a tall man, with uncertain, shifting eyes, a pallid face, somewhat resembling the dead Bardya, a puppet evidently in the hands of the real ruler, Patatheites. He was about to prostrate himself before royalty, as was his habit, when, remembering his high position, he checked himself and stood erect, folding his arms in much embarrassment and agitation. On his head was a vari-colored turban, around which was a golden coronet.

“I give you greeting. What would you?” responded Athura, coldly.

Patatheites coughed slightly and glanced at the King; then, assuming a very ingratiating tone and manner, he said:

“The fates—I should say, the gods—have ordered that this man shall be King. It matters not whether he be truly Bardya or not,—the spirit of Bardya is in him. It has come to pass that King Cambyses by his own hand is dead. You alone, royal lady, remain of his family. By right of birth you should be Queen of the World. Unless you so rule, the kingdom will pass to the King of Iran. It has been announced to all the world that this Bardya has taken to himself all the wives of Cambyses. That is true, and you yourself are included. We come, therefore, to make a treaty. Consent to a marriage with this King, Bardya, and rule equally with him. Your presence with him will reconcile all Iran and the world will remain at peace. You cannot rule alone. He offers to share the throne with you. Let him speak for himself. I, his Chief Counselor, have spoken!”

Gaumata, thus prompted, bowed low before her and said in high, squeaky tones: “Years ago my eyes beheld the most lovely vision of all the earth. It was Athura, star of the morning, lovelier than the moon, shining on a darkened world. My soul went out to her. I said that I would one day sit on the throne of the world with her and her slightest wish should be my law, her will my will, and that together we would rule the universe wisely. Let it be so!”

Athura restrained her indignation with great difficulty. Should she temporize, or at once declare herself? She remained silent a moment. When she spoke, her steady voice betrayed not her deep agitation.

“For this, then, I have been deceived and brought hither,” she said. “It is a very grave matter. I require time to consider it. I know there is but one other choice. That is—death! I must choose between you and death, unless something intervenes. Such presumption as yours in the days of Cyrus would have merited death. But truly has the situation changed through the wisdom of God. How many days may I have to consider this?”

The men glanced at each other doubtfully. Then the Counselor spoke.

“Grave events call for quick action. However, if to-morrow at this time will suit you to answer, let it be so.”

“I shall require at least a week.”

“No, no! You must decide by to-morrow.”

“Must?”

Her tone startled the men. In it were unutterable scorn and menace. Gaumata shrank back. As she looked now, so had he seen Cyrus and Cambyses, the terrible. But Patatheites was unafraid and, knowing the necessity of quick action, he was determined that her choice should be made at once.

“Forgive the expression,” he said. “We are desperate men. So stirred up are the people that we must act quickly. You said truly that you must choose either to consent or to meet death. Rule the world or die! Do you hear? But you shall consent!” He gazed into her eyes with his flashing black eyes fixedly and extended his long, slender fingers towards her slowly. He trusted to his great hypnotic power to overcome the powerful will that showed in her eyes. “On the morrow at this hour you shall say yes!” he added after a pause.

Athura smiled derisively. Her eyes showed no less will-power than his, and, extending her hand in a repellent gesture, she said: “I say that I will speak freely without being coerced by your devil’s power! Dog that you are! I shall live to see your carcass thrown to the vultures!”

The battle of wills continued in silence for a tense moment. Then the eyes of Patatheites wavered and dropped. His hand fell at his side. His dusky face paled to a sickly yellow.

“Princess, again I ask forgiveness,” he said humbly. “Well I know that the spirit of the great Cyrus, living again in you, cannot be commanded! Let us reason together. Being a woman, you can never reign alone on the throne of Iran, or of the world. All the males of your family are dead. The kingdom will pass to the King of Iran. If his son were living he would make you his wife, and thus, when his father dies, you might become his Queen but not a joint ruler with him. But the Prince of Iran is dead. He was slain in a battle near Susa yesterday. It remains only for you to accept our proposition and you will become joint ruler with this Bardya and reign over the whole world.”

The Princess made no immediate answer, but gazed in silence on the face of the speaker, striving to read whether he lied or not in speaking of the Prince. The cold hand of fear clutched at her heart. Dread seized her throat and almost stifled her. But there seemed to whisper in her ear a voice like that of the loved Bardya of old, saying: “Believe him not, little sister. The Prince yet lives and will surely come to your aid.” She was startled and looked around involuntarily searching for the speaker; but no one, save her maid, was near. Arousing herself with a great effort, the Princess again controlled her agitation and said: “You are stating a falsehood, magician! But, even if the Prince were dead, it would not alter my determination. What? I, a daughter of Cyrus, mate with that slave? Begone from my sight!”

The pallid face of Gaumata flushed in anger. Thrusting aside Patatheites, he laid one hand on a short sword at his side. “Woman!” he cried excitedly, “birth makes not a man, but achievement! I am a noble of Medea, of ancient lineage and royal stock. Centuries ago my forefathers ruled the Scythians, who were once lords of Medea. I have dared to seize the throne of the world from your tyrant brother, and I mean to hold it! I have offered you the right to share it. Choose! On the morrow you accept or die! The world is not large enough to permit you and me to live therein unless we join fortunes!”

The Princess was surprised. She had deemed this man a mere puppet. He seemed to have some qualities of a strong man. She spoke less bitterly as she answered: “You speak somewhat kingly, Gaumata! But you are a living lie, ruling not by your own might! You rule only by reason of Bardya’s name. Do not deceive yourself into the belief that the Aryans would permit you to rule an hour, did they know the truth! No! Rather it would be better for you to release me and place in my hands the scepter and crown. I might so far pardon you as to permit you life and property. Think of this, my offer until to-morrow, and I will consider yours.”

“Until to-morrow then, farewell!” said Patatheites, bowing low and backing quickly from the room. Gaumata followed without the formality of a bow. Athura sat a long time in silence after they had gone, wrapped in thought, while the daughter of Gustasp stood in silence with folded hands and bowed head at her side.

The Princess turned to her maid at length and asked: “What think you, child? The magicians were not able to bend my will, though strong was the power of the priest’s evil eyes. I felt my brain reel and I became dizzy for a moment.”

“I have never seen one able to resist him before,” answered the maid. “Truly Ahura-Mazda has sent to your aid some powerful angel!”

The hours of that day passed very slowly for the Princess. She spent the greater part of her time in the upper chamber looking from the window upon the valley below. She had little hope that any aid would arrive. She was determined to escape from the castle at all hazards as soon as night should come, and she sent word to Gustasp that he must arrange for her escape.

About noon two horsemen were seen riding at headlong speed from the direction of Nicæa. They came direct to the castle. They evidently bore exciting news. For the King and his Chief Counselor were observed in excited conference with them, and, shortly afterwards, the King mounted a horse and rode down into the valley, where his cavalry immediately marched away across the plain towards Nicæa, and several horsemen rode away in divers directions. Later the King returned to the castle accompanied by an officer, whose elegantly attired form and easy carriage, as he passed across the castle-yard, seemed familiar to Athura. She sent the maid to call Gustasp, whose duties now consisted in standing guard at the castle-door. The captain soon appeared.

“What means this excitement?” she inquired. “Who is the officer that came up with the King?”

Gustasp shrugged his giant shoulders. “The officer is Prexaspes,” he answered. “He was chief man of the empire under King Cambyses. He is in command of the Medean army which is assembling down there in the valley. I do not know just what news the messengers brought; but it is rumored that they reported a strong force of Persian cavalry moving up towards Nicæa over the hill-roads from Susa. If that be true, a battle may occur if the Medes dare to stand against them. There are but a few veterans here and they may not risk a battle. The Persian cavalry is terrible, especially if led by the Prince.”

Athura started up with joy, exclaiming, “By the Prince, did you say?”

“The Prince of Iran, yes,” he assented. “No one knows, but I will bet my shield that he leads the Persians!”

“Ahura-Mazda grant that it be true! What of you if there be a battle, Gustasp? Ought I to wait till the morrow? Or should I escape this night and trust myself to the mountains?”

“I have requested the honor of personally guarding you so that you may not escape,” he responded. “The King has granted my request. I do not know how to advise. The new men who came in with Captain Galutha are on guard. There is to be an enchantment, a sacrifice, and soma-drinking to-night. Ahura-Mazda grant that no spell be cast on us! Let me advise that you stay in this upper chamber with all your maids. I shall stand here at the foot of the stairs. We may need a barricade. That divan and the benches may do. When darkness comes, I will bring up javelins and spears. I do not know how to get out of the castle with you unseen.”

“What do you fear?”

“Madmen, drunken with soma! You and the maids are the only women in the castle. Even the King himself will be drunken and furious.”

“Bring up the arms, Gustasp! You will find in me no weeping, fainting child. We will fight this battle together!”

“Then on the morrow we may need to defend this place until the battle be decided down there in the valley.” And he added fervently, “It will be a joy to fight for you, O Queen of the Earth, and even to die for you!”

Gustasp began immediate preparations for defense and secretly brought up a bundle of keen javelins, several heavy spears, and a huge bronze battle-ax, which they concealed behind curtains and furniture. He also brought a supply of bread and fruit.

From her window Athura saw that preparations were being made in the courtyard for the sacrifice spoken of by Gustasp. First, a square altar of stones was erected. Around this, at a distance of twenty feet, a circle of flat stones was placed. A priest clothed in long robes then drew geometrical figures with a sword-point on the ground within the circle. Other priests brought out twenty tall jars of soma and placed them at intervals touching the circle. Still others brought wood and piled it in four heaps at the corners of a square inclosing the circle. Many soldiers of the garrison gathered around, uneasily and fearfully watching the preparations, but they were not allowed to come within twenty paces of the circle.

The preparations were completed when the sun was yet half an hour high. Then the rumble and boom of drums and the shrill scream of trumpets announced the beginning of the services. A procession of priests, twenty in number, headed by Patatheites and followed by Gaumata, who led a beautiful white stallion, appeared from the northern portion of the castle-yard. Seven times they silently marched around on the outer side of the circle of stones. Then they halted and a priest took station at each of the jars of soma. Every one held a large, keen knife in one hand and a goblet in the other. The chief priest, Patatheites, took station at the right of the altar and raised his hand toward the setting sun in prayer. All the others imitated his action. Their invocation was silent and lasted a full minute. Then Patatheites placed a bundle of fagots on the altar and again raised his hands to the sun, and his lips moved in recital of an invocation. Instantly a spiral of smoke ascended from the fagots and a flame burst forth. The soldiers, stricken with awe, fell on their knees at sight of this miracle. The sun-god had answered, unless the dexterous priest, having a knowledge of phosphorus and sulphur, had ignited the wood as he placed it on the altar.

Gaumata now led the white stallion into the charmed circle near to the high priest. The beautiful animal trembled and sniffed at the altar and the blazing wood, then raised his noble head and whinnied. As he did so, the chief priest, with a powerful slash of his sharp knife, cut the animal’s throat so deeply across as almost to sever the head. At the same moment, Gaumata drove his knife deep into the horse’s chest through his proud heart. With a convulsive backward movement, the noble beast sought to break away, but Gaumata clung to it and its knees gave away suddenly and it fell. The chief priest took a stone vessel and caught the blood spouting from the severed throat. When the vessel was filled, he presented it to Gaumata, who lifted it on high before the fire and towards the setting sun, then poured some of the blood on the altar and some on the earth while he muttered a prayer. The chief priest then took a bundle of rods, known as the baresma, and, dipping it in the blood, sprinkled the King and the twenty priests, chanting a hymn as he slowly performed his labor. Then four of the priests attacked the carcass of the horse with their knives and rapidly dismembered it. A portion of flesh from the chest was taken by the King and placed on the burning wood of the altar. The savor of it went up to heaven just as the rim of the sun disappeared behind the western hills, while the priests broke forth into a barbaric chant in praise of Mithra. The limbs and body of the animal were then cut in bits and distributed by the priests to the soldiers. The piles of wood were set on fire by coals from the altar, and the men roasted the horseflesh at these and ate of it. Thus far the ceremony had been conducted with some decorum.

Then the bloody-handed priests dipped goblets into the jars and brought them forth filled to the brim with a white, acid liquor, the sacred juice of the soma plant. First, the chief priest drank a huge goblet of the liquor. The King followed suit. Then the priests drank, and as they drank they began a serpentine march, following the lines of the geometrical figures drawn in the circle, weaving in and out and crossing back and forth, chanting in time to their movements. The chief priest led the weird dance. The King followed at the rear. Ever and anon, as their movements brought them near the jars, the priests replenished their goblets. Gradually their chant became louder and wilder, and was addressed to the gods of the sun, of the moon, of the stars, of the earth, and of the seas, entreating them to be present and to give counsel and wisdom to the King.

Darkness fell upon the earth, but the fires partially dispelled the gloom in the courtyard. The crowd of soldiers drew well back from the enchanted circle, dreading they knew not what, and fearing the unknown powers of earth and sky. Suddenly one of the priests ceased marching and, with a scream, rent the clothes from his body. Stark naked he began to dance furiously, leaping in the air, frothing at the mouth, and uttering wild words of prophecy. Another imitated him and still another, until a score of naked, leaping, shouting madmen, brandishing knives and soma-pots, encircled the chief priest, who, having drunk but little of the powerful liquor, had remained comparatively sober, and who now took his station with folded arms and bowed head before the altar, listening intently to the ravings of his helpers. The King took his place on the opposite side of the altar and sought to preserve a semblance of dignity, but he swayed to and fro under the influence of the liquor or of excitement while he also listened to the ravings of the prophets.

The Princess and her maids were curious observers of the ceremonies, but their curiosity turned to horror as the last act of the drunken priests began. Nevertheless, they watched and listened.

One of the priests, bellowing for silence, stood before the chief priest and shouted: “I am Melchior of the Hills! Say to this King, he lacks courage! Say to him that instead of entreating the proud woman in yonder castle, he should take her by force, lest there come an eagle out of the south and carry her away! Let him now act! Now! Now! Now!”

Another shouted: “I am sent from Mithra to say, The day comes when the Kings of the earth shall meet in death struggle! To him of stout heart and quick mind will the victory be! Up and act!”

Others took up the burden of prophecy and warning. The chief priest listened attentively; then, calling the King aside, he spoke rapidly and earnestly to him, pointing up to the window from which the Princess was looking down upon them. For a time the King hesitated, then walked uncertainly towards the castle, followed by the howling mob of priests, who stumbled, rolled, or hopped after him. A moment later they were hammering at the castle-door and the King was commanding Gustasp to open.

Gustasp, however, had not been idle. He had locked and barred the stout doors and had reinforced them with furniture piled against them. Now, as the King’s voice was heard commanding him to open, he shouted back a refusal.

“Open, I command it!” shouted the King.

“I will never open it!” answered Gustasp. “No longer do I serve you, Gaumata, the false! I serve the gracious Princess of the house of Cyrus!”

“You will be torn in pieces! Open, I say! I will have you roasted to death! I will afflict you with spells! Open! I command!”

“Never! I warn you that I will slay any man who attempts to harm my sovereign lady!”

The King and Patatheites took counsel and sought to beguile the giant guard.

“Listen!” said the priest. “We mean no harm to the Princess. But she must marry the King now and must march with us at daybreak to Hamadan and proclaim their union. Open, and I swear she will not be harmed, and you shall be the first officer of the army!”

But Gustasp growled a refusal. He was not to be deluded. Then began Patatheites to curse him and to call down the anger of all the gods upon him. He cursed him by the sun whose beams would strike him down; by the moon whose rays would drive him insane; by the rivers which would drown him; by the hills which would fall on him; and by the devils who would ever pursue him. So bitter and dreadful were his words that stout Gustasp paled and trembled. With uncertain steps he paced back and forth across the lower chamber floor, fearing that from the shadows of the chamber half-lighted by an oil lamp some specter might leap forth upon him. A soft step came down the stairs and Gustasp drew his sword. But it was the Princess. She came to the trembling giant and placed her hand on his arm.

“Fear not, Gustasp!” she said reassuringly. “Good spirits are here around us! Those curses shall not harm you. Ahura-Mazda has sent me a messenger saying: ‘Fear not! We will help you!’ Be strong and brave, Gustasp. See, I tremble not.”

The giant guard heaved up his broad shoulders, and a cheerful smile passed across his rugged features.

“Have no fear that I will falter, most gracious lady,” he said. “Let them curse. If they come within reach of my spear, their curses will stop short!”

At length the cursing ceased. The King and the chief priest withdrew a space to consult. Presently they ordered a company of soldiers with a beam for a battering-ram to break down the door. The stout planks and bars soon quivered beneath heavy blows. Gustasp, seeing that it would presently fall, retreated up the narrow stairway to the upper chamber and proceeded to barricade it with furniture. A heavy divan was pressed into the narrow stair, leaving barely space at one side through which a spear might be thrust. Tables and benches were piled upon this. Then Gustasp, spear in hand, stood ready. The door below presently gave way and a squad of soldiers rushed into the room below. Finding it empty, they immediately began to ascend the stair; but, the moment one appeared in the narrow passage, the long blade of Gustasp’s spear flashed down upon him and he tumbled back gasping, with a terrible wound in his chest. A second tried the ascent and had his face slashed open. This cooled the ardor of the assailants. They drew back to take counsel. No one dared further attempt the deadly stair.

Then Athura heard a voice, cold, calm, and ironical, saying: “It seems to me far beneath the dignity of a King of the World to be leading a drunken mob in attack upon a woman! I say to you now that I for one do not approve!”

“Have a care, Prexaspes!” replied the voice of Patatheites. “Such words to the King are not to be spoken lightly!”

“Bah!” was the rejoinder in a loud voice that was heard by every man in the fortress. “Who are you to threaten me? Do you desire to break with me? If so, I will lead my Medes over to the Prince. I say to you, stop this rioting and give your thoughts to the enemy! If I be not greatly mistaken, we shall have the Persians upon us before noon to-morrow. I will venture all I have that the Prince is commander of that company approaching Nicæa! If so, his coming will be like a whirlwind. I am going down to the camp, and I demand that the King go with me. I demand that no further violence be attempted against the Princess Athura. I warn you that if we injure her and lose this battle, the Prince of Iran will flay and quarter every man in this fortress!”

His words greatly impressed all hearers and, after further angry altercation, Prexaspes triumphed and the drunken priests were ordered to return to their cells while Gaumata sulkily mounted a horse and rode with him down to the camp.

Athura praised Gustasp and presented to him a gold ring, which in after years the guard and his descendants treasured above all other possessions.

CHAPTER XX
THE OVERTHROW OF THE MAGI

ATHURA slept little during the remainder of the night. She insisted on watching a part of the time, while Gustasp slept stretched out on the floor and the maids tried to rest. She watched while the stars paled and the gray light of the dawn grew into rosy sunrise and cloudless day. Her eyes eagerly scanned the horizon towards Nicæa. As soon as the light was sufficient, she saw moving bodies of horsemen concentrating in the plain near the base of the hill on which the castle stood. She had often seen large bodies of troops, and she estimated that not less than thirty thousand were there. Officers were busily riding hither and thither placing them in line with their faces towards Nicæa.

When Gustasp awoke and observed the movements of the troopers, he gave it as his opinion that an attack was expected. Nor was he mistaken. For about mid-forenoon they observed two bodies of cavalry approaching from the direction of Nicæa, one in advance moving rapidly and the other more deliberately. The advance body was evidently a scouting party sent out by Prexaspes, and it soon joined his array. The pursuers came on in wide, extended order, their masses glittering with armor and spear-points. At their head rode two men, conspicuous on white steeds.

“Look, Gustasp!” exclaimed Athura, while the pursuers were yet far away. “Is it not the Prince—the one at the right? Is that not Gobryas at his left?”

Gustasp shaded his eyes and looked closely at the distant figures. He smiled and shook his head.

“My eyes are counted good, gracious lady, but I cannot see any difference in those men,” he answered. “If I had eyes as young as yours, I might distinguish them. But I know those are the Persians of the Imperial Guard. The Prince must be with them. They are not half as numerous as the false King’s men, but they are veterans and the best soldiers in the world. It will be a short battle.”

The Persians came on until they were within a thousand paces of their antagonists, when they halted. The two leaders rode forward to a slight eminence two hundred paces in advance, from which they attentively surveyed the field. It was well suited for battle between bodies of cavalry. While somewhat rolling and uneven, there were no ditches or swamps. The Medean line was more extended than the Persian and no less massive and deep. The Persian leaders soon returned to their lines and the watchers on the hills perceived a movement of the rear ranks to the left, where presently a body of troops was massed three times as great in depth as the general line.

“The Prince has made a hammer of his left,” said Gustasp. “Now look at his right! It bends back so that the Medes may not overlap and attack the Persian rear!”

It was even so. For when the Persians moved forward again there was a perceptible bending back of their right wing until it moved forward en echelon to the remainder of the line.

Then came two men from the Persians who rode rapidly up to the Medes and demanded a parley. Prexaspes and the King met them and received a message from the Prince of Iran demanding the surrender of the Princess Athura and of the false King, and promising pardon to all the other Medes save Prexaspes. These demands were refused. The heralds rode back to the Prince and reported, who then ordered his army to advance.

The Persians came on at a smart trot until within five hundred yards. Then the front ranks leveled their spears, bent their bodies forward, and pressed their horses into a gallop. Prexaspes ordered his troops forward to meet the onset. The earth shook with the thunder of hoofs. A deep-toned roar went up from the Persians, their battle shout which had terrified many a nation. The Medes answered with a medley of yells. The lines came together with a terrific shock. Men were unhorsed. Horses reared, plunged, and went down. Screams of agony mingled with battle-shouts. The lines wavered and stood still, it seemed, for the space of five minutes. Then was seen the power of discipline. The Medes, while brave, were not inured to battle. After the first shock, they became confused. They were overthrown, ridden down, and pushed back. Struggling fruitlessly against the terrible spears of their enemies, they receded. The Persians raised shouts of victory and pressed their advantage. The Prince of Iran, leading the center, rode over Prexaspes, broke through the Medean lines, and made directly for the King. The latter turned his horse and fled towards his castle, with the Prince and Gobryas close at his heels. So close was the pursuit that Gaumata and his men had no time to close the brazen gates of the castle, which were opened to receive them, before the Prince and Gobryas with a company of Persians pressed through and attacked the garrison fiercely. Demoralized by the fall of Prexaspes and the flight of Gaumata, the Medean army scattered and fled from the field.

The Prince and Gobryas, swords in hand, pressed through the confused rabble after Gaumata. They saw him leap from his horse and enter the castle. Dismounting they pursued him into the chamber below that where the Princess Athura had her retreat. Here the false King turned at bay, unable to escape. The Prince himself attacked Gaumata, though Gobryas begged the privilege of slaying him. The struggle was short. The Prince was an athlete and swordsman; his opponent was neither. Gaumata’s weapon was whirled from his hand at the first blow, and the Prince’s blade passed through his heart, cutting short his cry for mercy.

Athura, trembling with excitement, had seen the battle and the flight and pursuit of Gaumata, and, from behind Gustasp’s broad shoulders on the stairs, had watched the short, sharp combat between the Prince and the usurper. The Prince, flushed with victory as he stood above the writhing form of Gaumata, heard her exclaim, “Ahura-Mazda be praised!” He turned and their eyes met. He sprang towards Gustasp with dripping sword, thinking the giant guard an enemy in charge of the royal captive. But Athura pressed forward in front of Gustasp, exclaiming, “He is a friend!”

The Prince dropped his sword and extended his arms, with the light of great love in his eyes. Athura threw her arms about his mail-covered shoulders. Gustasp and Gobryas drove back the crowd of Persian troopers who were pressing in to aid their Prince.

But a chief commander must make an end of greetings, no matter how entrancing. The Prince and Athura passed out into the courtyard, now filled with shouting Persians, some of whom were pursuing the luckless garrison and cutting them down. When the Persians saw the radiant Athura standing by the side of their Prince, their shouts rent the heavens. For every man who had taken part in the battle knew that their leader was seeking to rescue his promised wife, the daughter of the great Cyrus.

Prexaspes was among the prisoners. His horse had been killed and had fallen upon him. The Persian cavalry had passed over him. But save for a broken arm, he was not seriously injured. He was brought before the Prince. His countenance showed signs of suffering, but the usual calm, cynical smile rested upon it and he exhibited no fear. The Prince looked upon him sternly.

“At last, Prexaspes,” he said, “you have come to a day of judgment! What have you to say?”

“Nothing, great Prince,” he answered. “Fate has turned against me. I am in your hands, a prisoner of war.”

“But how could you, a noble of Medea, conspire with that carrion, Gaumata? And you even obeyed him as King!”

“I did not conspire. I was faithful to Cambyses till he died—even though he did slay my son, as you know, in cruel jest. I did not conspire against him. What could I do after his death? By the command of Cambyses, I had slain Prince Bardya. For that crime I knew that I would be slain by you. So I came and offered my sword to the false King. He obeyed me, not I him!”

The Prince contemplated his prisoner gloomily. No man ever more admired courage than he. Prexaspes smiled in the face of death. What punishment should be meted out to such a man?

“For taking Bardya’s life, you have merited death,” said the Prince, finally. “But you are a brave man. You shall die as such. Tell me, Prexaspes, how did Bardya die?”

“I expect to die,” answered Prexaspes, and the pain and despair of his soul snatched away the smile from his face, leaving his handsome features haggard and drawn. “Remorse has been with me, since by this hand the stout young Prince departed! I will tell you. Cambyses was jealous of Bardya. His advisers, the Magian priests, who by their wonder works had made much impression on the King’s mind, also hated Bardya because he clung to the ancient religion of Iran and was an enemy to their religion. They knew that with Bardya as King they would never gain power in the state. They hinted to the King that Bardya contemplated rebellion. They artfully brought stories of the young man’s popularity. They advised his death. It was then that the King laid his command upon me to slay his brother. The Magian priests sent a body of their armed followers to lie in wait on the road to Rhages that night when the feast in honor of the Prince’s departure was held; and I rode with Bardya that night until, as prearranged, they attacked us. Then, in the mêlée, I struck the Prince with my sword and he died. Was not the Great King’s word law? I executed his word, without malice towards the Prince. But I am weary of life! My wife is dead. Cambyses slew my son. I have run the full course of power and wealth. I am your prisoner, ready to die. But know this, great Prince, I have never advised Cambyses against your interests!”

The Prince listened attentively and believed that Prexaspes spoke truthfully. He turned to Athura, who had listened to the recital, and asked, “What do you advise?”

Athura shook her head sadly.

“I cannot advise,” she said. “Last night when the drunken priests and the false King attempted to break into the castle and do me harm, this man interfered and compelled them to cease.”

“For that, Prexaspes, I would pardon you, had I the power,” said the Prince, turning to the prisoner. “I could order you slain now, but I cannot slay you. Prexaspes, you have deserved my gratitude. I grant you life for the present. I am not the King. My father is King of Iran. There is no King of Kings; until the nobles of Bactra, Persia, and Medea shall select one of the Achæmenian line. You shall go to Hamadan to be judged.”

“Rather would I be slain by you now,” responded Prexaspes, earnestly. “Let me die a soldier’s death, not the death of a dog condemned for murder!”

The Prince was troubled. He hesitated. Sympathy for a brave man moved him.

“I promise you this, Prexaspes,” he said after a moment of consideration. “If you will testify before the council of nobles and to the people, that this Gaumata was a false traitor and not Bardya and that Bardya was slain by your hand, I promise that you may choose the manner of your death. The King and the nobles will heed my promise. They will not deny me. If you make this confession and implicate the Magian priest, they will pursue you with bitter vengeance. It is said that their death penalties are tortures such as even fiends would not inflict. We could not save you from them. It is the ancient law that one who lifts his hand against one of the Achæmenian race must die. Is it not so? And this law, not even the King may set aside.”

“It is so!” answered Prexaspes. “I will testify before the people and the council, in order that your reign as King of Kings may not be disturbed by other false Bardyas. I advise that you carry this Gaumata’s head to Hamadan and exhibit it in the market that all may see. I myself will ascend the criers’ tower and confess the death of Bardya to the people. So be it. I will choose my own death.”

“Meanwhile,” said the Prince, “Gobryas shall be your keeper. He will treat you as a brave soldier should treat a brave soldier unlucky enough to be a captive. We shall rest here this night. On the morrow we march to Hamadan.”

CHAPTER XXI
KING OF KINGS

THAT evening the Prince, accompanied by Athura, ascended the narrow stairs leading to the flat top of the castle-tower and, seated on the low parapet that surrounded it, watched the sun set in golden splendor. They found an altar of heavy stones, rudely squared, in the center of the roof. It bore marks of long usage. But the fire which had blazed on it for years was dead. Only ashes remained.

The evening was pleasant. The sky was a deep, blue dome. The wide plain to the south, surrounded on all sides by hills, the high mountains to the north and east, with their sharp crags and peaks, with Elwend and her snow in the east and Demavend far to the northeast, a diamond point of eternal white, were of entrancing beauty. The Prince for a time forgot battles and marches. Athura forgot the long years of waiting and watching. They were lovers now, rank and royalty forgotten, man and maid, each glorified by the other’s love. The sun stood still in the heavens and the hills rolled up and concealed him. Darkness enveloped them, and they were oblivious of all else than themselves. The stars appeared, brilliant points in the depths of space. The moon rose and drove the shadows from the hilltops into the depths of canyon and gulch. A great owl winged his way slowly about the tower and, alighting on the altar, peered at them suspiciously. When they moved he flapped away into the shadows of the hills. Bats flitted hither and thither like restless spirits. A wolf howled in the distant mountains. The low hum of conversation came up from the soldiers gathered about camp-fires in the courtyard. In such surroundings, the royal lovers again took up and tied the broken threads of life and renewed their vows to each other.

Morning brought with it activity. The castle was abandoned. The army marched to Hamadan. A special guard of gayly-caparisoned officers rode near the litter in which the Princess was borne, or followed the horse on which, at times, she chose to ride by the side of the Prince. There was no organized opposition to the march. Bands of soldiers, which were riding to the aid of the false King, returned to their homes, stunned by the sudden overthrow of their leader. Gaumata’s head was borne aloft on a pike-staff; and, in every hamlet and village, a crier called the people together and told them of the false King’s deception and death.

So it came about that the cavalry under the Prince and the infantry under the King of Iran came together near Hamadan, entered the city without encountering resistance, and relieved Captains Arios and Mardux, not only of their danger but also of their soft living in the palace of the Great King. But in appreciation of their valiant service, they were promoted to higher grades in the Imperial Guard and later they became chief officers of the Guard.

On the day that they entered Hamadan, Athura became the wife of the Prince of Iran. The marriage feast was held in the palace. After the feast, the great nobles of Iran were called into the throne room by King Hystaspis, who, sitting on the throne in state, addressed them thus:

“Nobles of the Aryan race, I have called you hither to ask what is your will concerning the throne left by Cyrus and Cambyses. By right of birth, I, the head of the Achæmenian family, am entitled to reign in Iran. I am King of Iran. But while Iran rules the world, the victories of Cyrus established such rule and his authority was paramount to mine. I am old and desire to live the few years that may be mine in ease. I desire not to assume the burden that must be borne by the King of Kings. For I foresee that some of the conquered provinces will rebel and that wars will come. The line of Cyrus is dead, all save the Princess who this day has become the wife of my son. It is my command that all here speak freely.”

Otanes stepped forth and looked about him a moment in silence. Then his eyes rested upon the Prince of Iran and his beautiful bride, who sat at the right hand of King Hystaspis. He bowed low before them.

“There can be but one choice, O King,” he said gravely. “The royal power has ever been in the Achæmenian family. As long as there are men of that royal line, none others may dare to aspire to the throne. If you, Sire, refuse to reign, there stands the well-beloved Prince, your son, whose wisdom and valor are far beyond his years, whose name is on every soldier’s tongue, as the hero of his race! By him stands Athura, most beautiful, most royal in birth. Has not your family and the family of Cyrus united? Let Darius Hystaspis be King of Kings and Athura, the daughter of Cyrus, be his Queen! Thus will all the peoples be contented and the world be blest. What say you, nobles of Iran?”

A roar of assent was the response.

“Let the crown of Cyrus be brought hither!” commanded the King.

A double crown, one part of which was silver and the other of gold, studded with gems, was brought forth. The King gravely rose from his throne and, addressing his son, said:

“You have heard the choice of the nobles of Iran, my beloved son! In the presence of these men, I now renounce in your behalf the supreme rule of the world. Here and now I crown you King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Rule wisely and well. As King of Iran, I acknowledge you supreme Lord and will support your throne forever!”

The Prince, much affected, knelt at his father’s feet and received upon his head the double crown, which the great Cyrus had made as a symbol of his everlasting dominion over the kings of the world. Then he rose and sat down upon the throne, with Athura at his right hand and his father at his left. The great lords of Persia came and did obeisance to him and bent their right knees before him. Thus Darius Hystaspis became the Great King, and proved to be the wisest and greatest of them all. For, to the military ability of the heroic Cyrus, he added the wisdom of a statesman, the greatest of his age; and, in addition, he was a lover of art and science.

On the following day, at noon, in response to the call of public criers, a vast concourse of people gathered in and around the public square or market-place in Hamadan. Soldiers of the Persian army were massed at one side. The nobility, men of note and strangers, were massed on the other. In the midst, the public criers’ tower arose forty feet in air, and from it, the people understood, announcement would be made concerning the accession of Darius Hystaspis to the throne as King of Kings.

The people were restive. A bitter factional feeling had arisen during the reign of the false Bardya. The followers of the Magi, being in favor, had lorded it over the more orthodox Medes and Persians, had even prohibited their worship, and had taken away from their priests the revenues on which they lived. When Gaumata fell and the Persian army entered the capital, the persecuted ones in turn had come forth and assumed a haughty spirit towards the Magians. In all parts of Medea, as well as in the capital city, was the same unrest. Men hated their neighbors on account of religion, the most deadly hatred that men may entertain, and were ready to slay each other. It needed only the excitement of a great gathering to set afire the smoldering embers of hate. The eyes of all turned often to the gruesome spectacle of an earless head on the top of a pole planted near the tower in such position that the populace could see it. A squad of soldiers guarded it from being overthrown by the pressure of the crowd. It was the distorted and blackened face of Gaumata.

At noon there issued from the palace a company consisting of the Great King, his Queen, his father, and the nobles of Iran, and they rode between massed lines of soldiers to a position near the tower. They were received with loud acclaim and clashing of weapons. A trumpet pealed forth from the tower, and a deep silence fell upon the people. Then Prexaspes appeared, accompanied by Gobryas and two armed guards.

Prexaspes was carefully dressed. His hair and whiskers were curled and perfumed. His rich Medean cloak was gracefully parted so as to display to advantage his jeweled vestments. He was at once recognized, and a subdued murmur of wonder passed through the crowd. He raised his hand in graceful gesture, and said in a loud voice:

“Behold me, Prexaspes, most unhappy of men! I am about to die and let my death, suffered righteously, attest the truth of my words!”

He paused a moment, to let his hearers grasp his meaning. Then he told the story of the plots by which the Magi had influenced Cambyses to order the death of Bardya and how he himself had slain the Prince with their aid; how they had then conspired against Cambyses and caused his overthrow and death; how they had set up Gaumata, the earless one, to be King, falsely representing him to be Bardya, and had placed the Magian on the throne of the world; and, finally, how the false King had been overthrown.

For the first time the populace knew that the Magi had slain Bardya and that a pretender had through their plots usurped the royal power. Every man looked at his fellow and laid his hand on the dagger at his belt. Hatred, fanned by the speaker’s revelations, blazed up; and a growl of anger passed throughout the vast crowd. Prexaspes ceased at last and for a moment stood in silence. Then he added:

“I have told you all! There, on yonder pole, is the head of false Gaumata! My hand is red with the blood of an Achæmenian Prince, and by the law I must die! By the grace of the mighty King of Kings, Darius, son of Hystaspis, who is this day your King, I die as I choose. I salute you, O King! May you live forever!”

He bowed towards the King, who sat still on his horse, sorrowfully contemplating the speaker. Then Prexaspes calmly opened his cloak and drew a long, keen dagger from his belt. He poised the dagger in air an instant, then drove it to the hilt in his breast. For a moment he stood smiling down upon the King, then his knees gave away and he fell, headlong, from the tower to the foot of the pole on which the hideous head of Gaumata leered. A murmur of horror ran through the vast throng. It increased in volume as the people spoke to each other. It rose to a vast roar in a moment and its burden was: “The Magi! They slew Bardya! Down with the Magi! Slay the Magi!”

There was a movement in the great throng. Here and there daggers and swords flashed. Screams of agony arose. The crowd swayed hither and thither. Then it scattered, and broke into groups under self-elected leaders who chased the frightened Magi and slew them wherever found. A riot of bloodshed and slaughter ran throughout the country such as Medea had not seen since that day, hundreds of years ago, when the Scythians had been massacred. Every man who had a Magian neighbor assaulted him. The house of every Magian priest was broken open and pillaged and its occupants slain or chased into the hills. It is said that a hundred thousand Magians died, before the King, with the aid of unwilling Persian soldiers, succeeded in stopping the slaughter. So deep-seated was the hatred of the orthodox Aryans towards the Magians that on the anniversary of this day hereafter it was the practice to slay every one of that sect that was found on the highway. The King made a decree that on such anniversary no Magian should leave his house and that if he did so and was killed, his slayer would not be punished.

But the remainder of our story is history. The kingdom of the Medes and Persians, or rather, the Kingdom of Iran, the rule of the Aryans, reached its zenith of power and glory under Darius Hystaspis, called Darius the Great. Well did he deserve the title “Great.” For he made laws for all the world save Greece and Rome. His coinage became the world standard. The provinces of his empire were ruled by kings. His public roads and rapid messenger service enabled him personally to supervise the general welfare of all his provinces. He invited men of letters to his court. He engraved his history on tablets and on the great rocks at Behistun and Persepolis. He brought architects and builders from Egypt, Palestine, and Phœnicia, and made for himself and his Queen a palace at Persepolis, whose stately ruins are yet mute witnesses of his power and magnificence. He had to reconquer many of the nations of Asia, which, because he was a young man and because religious feuds had torn Iran into factions, thought to free themselves. He redeemed his promise to Belteshazzer, the great Daniel of the Hebrew scriptures, and caused Jerusalem to be rebuilt, and he restored the Jews to their country. He restored the ancient religion of the Aryans and banished the false religion of the Magi, the Lie, from his empire. He worshiped God, whether named Jehovah by the Jew or Ahura-Mazda by his own people. His religion was pure and lofty.

But most of all did he love and honor his Queen, Athura, whose praises the world sang in those days, and whose fame has been preserved in various narratives, none of which agree except that all ascribe to her great wisdom and beauty. Together they ruled their empire many years, and their reign was the golden age of the Aryan race.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

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Table of Contents

- THE PRINCESS ATHURA
- CONTENTS
- CHAPTER I THE GREAT KING’S LAST BATTLE
- CHAPTER II AN OATH
- CHAPTER III PREXASPES
- CHAPTER IV ATHURA
- CHAPTER V CAMBYSES
- CHAPTER VI PERSEPOLIS

- CHAPTER VII “I AM CYRUS, THE KING, THE ACHÆMENIAN!”

- CHAPTER VIII A ROYAL COUNCIL AND A ROYAL HUNT

- CHAPTER IX THE DEEPER THINGS

- CHAPTER X A FAREWELL FEAST

- CHAPTER XI THE GREAT KING INTRODUCES A STRANGE CUSTOM

- CHAPTER XII THE FORCE OF AN OATH
- CHAPTER XIII A CLASH OF WILLS
- CHAPTER XIV THE WAR AGAINST EGYPT
- CHAPTER XV THE MADNESS OF CAMBYSES
- CHAPTER XVI THE END OF OATH-KEEPING
- CHAPTER XVII THE EARLESS KING
- CHAPTER XVIII THE SPIDER’S WEB
- CHAPTER XIX A GALLOPING TO AND FRO
- CHAPTER XX THE OVERTHROW OF THE MAGI
- CHAPTER XXI KING OF KINGS
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE